Sarah vs The Brotherhood
by verkisto
Summary: Sarah's mistake of the heart could cost her more than her career, it could endanger the whole world! This fic is primarily about the professional relationship between Sarah and Casey.
1. The Mission

The Prologue

Leaning over the restroom sink to get closer to the mirror, Sarah deftly applied makeup to conceal the spreading bruise under her right eye. She had to hurry and get back to the prince before he sent someone to look for her. Glad that the long dress would cover her torn stockings, she dabbed a tissue at the slow trickle of blood coming out of her right nostril. The men who had confronted her looked much worse.

There had been two of them. They were now tied back-to-back and securely gagged, crammed into a utility closet in the basement where they probably wouldn't be found until at least tomorrow. Anyway, Sarah hoped so. She had worked too long and too hard building up this mission to see it collapse because of her stupid mistake.

Casey had warned her. He had warned her every chance he got. Finally, she told him to shut up and leave her alone, and saying one word – "Prague" – had done the trick. He didn't refer to it again after that, but occasionally he would stop and give her a look that spoke volumes. And now he had been proven right.

_Well, damn Casey and damn them all_, she thought as she twisted her neck around to check the back of her dress in the mirror. Wouldn't do to have a giant oil stain on her butt or something like that. Nope, the dress was clean, if a bit wrinkled, and she smoothed it out as best she could.

Her discolored hands wanted to form claws of pain as she forced the fingers and thumbs to spread apart and put pressure on the luxurious silk fabric. Couldn't do anything about the hands now. Maybe just keep a napkin handy to hide them under or rest them in her lap. It shouldn't be too hard now that dinner was over. She could put her elbow-length gloves back on soon. And once they were in the darkened theater, she could maybe massage them to life a bit.

Sarah picked up her evening purse from the counter beside the sink and quickly checked inside to make sure it was still there. Yes, there it was, right beside her cute little gun, and she snapped the clasp closed, stringing the chain strap over her shoulder as she left the washroom to return to the embassy's opulent dining room and the table where the prince was waiting for her to reappear.

"So, my darling, there you are. I was beginning to worry about you," he said as he stood to acknowledge her approach.

"Your Highness," replied Sarah in turn, inclining her head as the waiter pulled her chair out so she could sit again.

"More coffee, perhaps?" inquired the prince, nodding to the waiter, who picked up a silver carafe from a side table, holding the handle in one white gloved hand while supporting the bottom with the other and proffering it in Sarah's direction, waiting for her assent before pouring.

"Yes, please, that would be lovely," said Sarah. Casey approached, picked up Sarah's cup and saucer, and delicately poured the steaming hot beverage into the eggshell porcelain cup, being careful not to splash. He placed the cup and saucer in front of Sarah with a hint of a bow and, torso still bent, walked backwards until he was at the sideboard, where he stood upright again and busily arranged liqueurs and glasses in case they were called for.

* * *

Swiveling around to slide her legs out of the open door of the limo, Sarah wasn't surprised to see Casey's arm extended to help her stand. He had changed into an elaborate old-fashioned theater usher's coat with epaulettes and gold buttons with a red braid draped across his chest, a braid-trimmed pillbox hat looking incongruous on such a large man.

Sarah was grateful that she could place her throbbing hand on his elbow for balance instead of taking his hand, and she pulled herself up as gracefully as she could, smiling serenely at the prince, who was already waiting for her on the pavement.

It was a risk for Casey to appear in both locations in such a short space of time, but they were hoping they could rely on a type of server blindness. The prince had so many different assistants, bodyguards and hangers-on around him, he probably wouldn't notice a repeated face. And Casey knew how to appear nondescript when he chose to. And servile. The thought made Sarah grin to herself.

Casey handed Sarah over to the prince, who bowed and smiled charmingly at her as flashbulbs popped. The local press was out in full force and Sarah saw logos from a couple of international news agencies. She might even get her picture in the tabloids. As they made their way up to the door of the theater, among the jostling paparazzi and the bright flashes, Sarah thought for a brief second she had spotted a ghoul, but when she checked again there was no one, and she mentally shook it off, chalking it up to professional paranoia.

Once they had been shown to their private box and the prince had waved regally, accompanied by a loud round of applause from the audience, they settled down, Casey again hovering in the background. The lights dimmed as the last sounds of the orchestra's tuning notes faded to silence. The overture began – _La Bohème_, the program said – and Sarah, who had never been interested in or entertained by opera, removed her gloves, gingerly rubbed her hands, relaxed as well as she could, and retreated into her mind, going back over what had happened that had led her to this predicament.

* * *

Chapter 1: The Mission

Sarah blinked at the beam of bright sunlight that streamed into the room and over the bed through a gap in the curtains. Warm and snug under the duvet, she resisted the thought of getting up and starting her day.

Sarah knew that she was falling into a comfortable rut, and she was beginning to relax and enjoy it. There had been no missions for a few weeks now, and the rhythm of work at the Wienerlicious, hanging out with Chuck, regular meals and particularly her cozy bed had started to soften her up a bit and put her in a constant good mood.

_I'll get up, go to the gym, have a good, hard workout and a cold shower_, she thought, _and then maybe the shooting range with Casey after work_.

Snuggling deeper under the covers and letting the sunlight play on her face, she smiled, heaved a sigh of contentment and added to herself, _In five minutes_.

* * *

Chuck was whistling tunelessly through his teeth as he concentrated on loosening the screws from the back plate of Sarah's broken cell phone. She probably could have repaired it herself using the jeweler's tools in the flap under her CIA lock picking set, but this had given her an excuse to come into the Buy More and flirt shamelessly with Chuck, further solidifying their cover.

When Sarah had entered the store, a quick scan had given her the approximate number of customers and their locations relative to the exits and the distribution of green polo shirts throughout the sales floor. Estimating the probability density of people she couldn't see because of shelving or large displays, Sarah had been satisfied that everything was normal and she could quickly take Chuck out through either the main front sliding doors or the back door to the loading dock if it became necessary in an emergency.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah had seen Casey in the home electronics section looking her way. He had lifted his eyebrows, rolled his eyeballs towards the ceiling, and shaken his head slowly in cartoon-like exasperation as she had sashayed up to the Nerd Herd counter, her short Wienerlicious skirt twitching from side to side to reveal the maximum amount of long, slim leg. Having placed her cell phone on the counter, she had smiled brightly as Chuck looked up and noticed her there.

"Hey, fella, can you give a girl a hand?" she had asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Ma'am, I currently have two hands available," Chuck had replied, smiling sweetly and joining in her game, "and many other parts not advertised in our weekly Buy More sale flyer. What is your pleasure?"

Feeling suddenly warm and girly, Sarah had admitted to herself she had been out-flirted. Damn, Chuck was good at this. Those brown puppy dog eyes. They were his secret weapon and he wasn't afraid to use them.

Now Chuck, still working on the phone, stopped whistling and, without looking up, hissed to Sarah out of the side of his mouth, "Stop that."

"Stop what?" she asked innocently as she continued to lean farther and farther over the counter, exposing an almost indecent amount of flesh to the rest of the Buy More population behind her.

"I can see what you're doing and it's causing disruption among the staff," continued Chuck, glancing up briefly. Sarah knew he had gotten a good look down the front of her blouse when his cheeks flared pinkly and he quickly turned his attention back to his work, fumbling with the screw driver.

"Yeah, I know," Sarah whispered. "Jeff and Lester have walked around behind me at least three times each now," she reported. Smiling and giggling a bit, she straightened up into a more decorous but no less attractive posture. She turned and, raising her hand to eye level, waggled her fingers at the two men, who nervously busied themselves rearranging some small merchandise and tried to pretend they hadn't been staring at her.

A gruff voice sounded from Sarah's right. "Got a license for that, Walker?" Casey asked as he approached.

"Why, Mr. John Casey, whatever do you mean?" asked Sarah. Turning back to Chuck and batting her eyelids coquettishly, she continued, "Could you be so kind as to tell me what he means, sir? I declare, for the life of me, I do not know!"

Chuck had finished repairing the phone and putting it back together. As he handed it to Sarah, he said seriously, "He means, Scarlett, you'd better take your feminine wiles out of here before you get us both fired. You've had your fun, now scoot!"

Flapping the backs of both hands in her direction, Chuck was beginning to turn around to look after some paperwork when Sarah jumped nimbly into the air and twisted her supple spine to deposit her backside onto the Nerd Herd counter. Leaning towards him, she gave Chuck a quick peck on the cheek. He whipped his head around, startled. Sarah's face was so close to Chuck's they almost bashed noses as she pouted prettily and said, "You're no fun."

Sliding off of the counter and onto the floor once more, Sarah directed her highest-wattage smile in Chuck's direction before turning and walking towards the door, this time adding a springy little bounce to her step so her long blonde pigtails swished in synchronous rhythm with her skirt.

Chuck gulped and watched her leave, his jaw hanging open. After a moment, he collected himself, closed his mouth and turned to Casey, who had been observing the proceedings with an amused smirk on his face.

"Advanced training?" inquired Chuck when he could speak once more.

"Top of her class," replied Casey as he turned to go back to home electronics.

* * *

Pleased with herself and her performance, Sarah walked jauntily into the Wienerlicious to find Scooter standing in the middle of the floor glaring angrily at her.

"You're late," he said, arms akimbo as he gave her his most intimidating look.

Sarah, however, was not so easily cowed. Still in an impish and playful mood, she approached Scooter and put the tips of her fingers lightly on his forearm, drawing them slowly down towards his wrist and smiling at him from under lowered lashes. That one usually primed the pump.

"I'm really sorry, Scooter, it won't happen again," she purred, once more enjoying the subtleties involved in the manipulation that was flirting.

But Scooter wasn't buying it.

Sarah's face fell as he turned abruptly away from her, still in complete possession of himself, and stated firmly, "It better not, Missy. You think you can come and go as you please. Well, you can't."

Scooter collected his backpack and bicycle clips from behind the counter and came around to face her again. Sarah, changing tactics and appearing suitably chastened, stood quietly with her head down, concealing her amusement by biting her lower lip as he continued in an angry and superior tone.

"One of these days, Miss High-And-Mighty, it will catch up with you. I told them you weren't Wienerlicious material, but would they listen to me? No."

Head held high, Scooter stalked towards the door. Pausing briefly to turn back and look at Sarah, he added in a very threatening tone, "And just remember, sexual harassment goes both ways, so don't be trying any of that stuff on me again."

Nose in the air once more, he left the restaurant as Sarah clutched her stomach and doubled up in a fit of giggles, supporting herself on a nearby table and wiping tears of laughter from her face. After a moment, she composed herself and went about the business of running the hot dog emporium for the remainder of her shift.

She had barely finished cleaning and wiping the tables and sweeping the floor when she noticed a small red light flashing on the cash register. As she hurried to get behind the counter, Sarah activated the communications portion of her wristwatch and raised it to her mouth.

"Casey, you'd better come over to the Wienerlicious right away. We've got a triple red," she said, a note of anxiety in her voice.

"Roger that," came the reply. "In five."

Just then, a group of six teenaged boys entered, carrying their skateboards and jostling each other to claim the best position from which to gape at Sarah.

"We're closed," she said abruptly as they pressed close to the counter, milling around and bouncing off of each other like puppies in a basket.

"Hey, man, you're not closed," whined one with particularly greasy hair.

"Yeah, Miss," added another, leering at her. "We're hungry. We want something hot."

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively to indicate he wasn't necessarily talking about deep fried corn dogs. This sent the rest of the group into loud cackles and responses of "Yeah, man!" and "You got it, bro," and they high-fived each other at the witticism.

"The lady said," came a low and menacing growl from the doorway, "that she's closed."

Casey, hands on hips, stood and glared at the group of frightened boys, whose bravado had quickly evaporated at the sight of the imposing figure. They quietly sidled around him to escape through the door, turning to stick their tongues out and flip him the finger when they were a safe distance away and on the run.

"Thanks, Casey," said Sarah as she punched the keys that activated the communications monitor hidden under the counter.

Casey joined her, grunting softly before observing, "You could have taken care of those walking hormones with your eyes closed, Walker, but since we're in a hurry, I thought I'd give them a little push. Let's hop to it. I only have a few minutes before I have to get back to the Buy More."

* * *

Chuck watched from the sofa as Casey pulled the photo from the color laser printer in his apartment. Sarah stood on the far side of the room nervously biting at the edge of her thumbnail. She hadn't remembered feeling like this for a long time. Something like stage fright mixed with anticipation mixed with dread.

The briefing she and Casey had gotten at the Wienerlicious hadn't revealed too many facts, but General Beckman and Director Graham had indicated in carefully couched language that they were dealing with a very dangerous splinter group whose influence was beginning to be felt far outside of their modest beginnings in Eastern Europe. This could be the big one: the mission that would solidify Sarah's career.

As Chuck reached out to take the photo from the NSA agent, she hurried over to his side, sitting down and placing a hand on his shoulder. Chuck jumped as if from an electric shock and moved away from her about a foot. He had picked up her elevated mood, as he always did, and began to mimic Sarah's symptoms of heightened emotions, his eyes widening and hands twitching.

Casey, the cold water expert, said impatiently, "Will you two cut it out. Walker, let him get on with it."

Sarah's eyes darted upwards and Casey's held them in a warning look. After a moment, she realized he was right and, dropping her gaze and quickly standing, she went around behind the sofa and into the kitchen to await the verdict.

She peeked around the door jamb and jumped back a little, suppressing a cry as she watched Chuck's head slam into the back of the sofa. Trying to ignore the almost overwhelming urge to go to his aid, she was relieved when Casey reached down to steady the trembling man, a look of concern on his face.

"Walker," Casey called out, "come here."

Sarah ran quickly back into the room and around to the front of the sofa. She was shocked to see the change in Chuck. He looked as though he was having a seizure as his head jerked on his neck and his eyes jumped erratically below closed lids.

Sitting beside him again and putting an arm around his shoulders, Sarah held him tightly, her brow furrowed as she willed him to be himself again. After about three long minutes, the paroxysm was over, and Chuck stopped shaking as his eyes opened and his dull, confused gaze took in the room.

Sarah wished that Casey would leave as Chuck, openly weeping now, doubled over sideways, wrapped his arms around her middle and buried his face in the front of her waist, shoulders heaving as he gulped for air. She held him tighter, one hand stroking his dark, unruly curls, and made soft shushing noises, rocking him like a child.

After repeated head indications from Sarah, Casey finally had the good grace to turn away and go upstairs to his bedroom. When he had left, Sarah gently pushed Chuck up into a sitting position, saying softly, "It's okay, Chuck, it's going to be all right. It's over now."

Chuck, his shoulders slumped and his head hanging, wiped at his tear-stained face and mumbled, "No, it's not over. This one is not over."

He picked up the picture, which had fallen face-down onto the floor, and slowly turned it over. Sarah gasped as she finally made sense of the image.

It was a photograph of three men and two women who had been horribly mutilated and strung up in a warehouse. Their faces had been cut but were recognizable. Each still had some shreds of clothing hanging on what was left of the rest of them, and Sarah gasped as she recognized high-ranking insignia from the U.S. Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps and Coast Guard, respectively.


	2. The Details

Chapter 2: The Details

Once Sarah had helped Chuck to dry his face and he had calmed a bit, she explained that they needed to know right away what he had seen. Chuck nodded dumbly in her direction and made an effort to gather himself together as Casey turned on his recording equipment and placed a table mic close to Chuck, who was now lying on the sofa, exhausted. Pausing occasionally to take small sips from a glass of water that Sarah had brought for him, Chuck related, haltingly at first and then with increasing speed, the images that had poured into his conscious mind and the connections that his powerful insight had made among them.

"Slow down, slow down, Chuck," admonished Sarah when he began to work himself up to the edge of incomprehensibility. Chuck sighed, relaxed his spine and fell back into the sofa cushions, giving Sarah such a forlorn look that she could almost feel her heart swelling with compassion.

"Now, start that bit again," she instructed, her elbows on her knees as she sat on a high stool brought in from the kitchen and leaned forwards to catch everything that Chuck was saying.

"I said," began Chuck wearily, "that the information is on a disk hidden somewhere. It's heavily guarded."

Chuck paused to run his tongue over his lips before starting again.

"It's in that place," he finished, weakly.

"What place, Chuck?" prompted Sarah.

"That place where they did those terrible things to those poor people," replied Chuck, who closed his eyes and reached his hand out blindly in Sarah's direction, groping for hers.

Sarah took his hand but turned her head to look at Casey. She raised her eyebrows in a sign of inquiry and Casey nodded his assent.

Turning back to Chuck and still holding on to his hand, Sarah stood and then kneeled on the floor close to his side. His eyes opened again, the corners swimming with tears, and he looked at her face and waited patiently for whatever was going to happen next.

"I'll take you home now, Chuck," Sarah said, holding his hand with both of hers. "We'll tell Ellie you're sick or something. When you've had a chance to rest, we may need you to give us some more. Is that okay?"

Chuck nodded mutely and laboriously pulled himself up off of the sofa. He flinched and brought his free hand to his head as the pain hit him, and Sarah felt the jolt all the way down his other arm and into hers. Casey stepped in to pull the stool out of their path, and she turned and led him slowly out of the apartment and across the courtyard to the doorway of Chuck's place.

Pushing the door open, Sarah was relieved to find Ellie busy in the kitchen working on some recipe or other. Sarah explained to Ellie that Chuck had had a rough day and now had a headache, which wasn't exactly a lie. Ellie, feeling his forehead and suspecting an elevated temperature as well, hurried him off to bed, chasing Sarah out of Chuck's room when she tried to help. Sarah got the feeling that Ellie blamed her for Chuck's illness. _She's probably right_, thought Sarah, and she returned to Casey's apartment.

* * *

Sarah immediately recognized the change in Casey. He had hardened somehow and moved about the room checking equipment and supplies with a focused determination. He wasn't angry but icily calm, and he gave Sarah the impression of inner stillness even while in motion. Sarah, not knowing how to read this new person, attempted to engage him in conversation.

"So I guess we'd better put together a plan," she stated as she sat down on the sofa in the same spot Chuck had recently occupied.

This didn't even merit a grunt.

"Casey?"

"I'm listening."

"Well, for instance, did you send that audio to Headquarters to be analyzed?" Sarah asked.

"Affirmative."

"Perhaps we should contact them, then, and see if they have anything new," Sarah suggested.

"Hmmmph."

There was the grunt. Sarah stood and put herself in Casey's path. She grasped his upper arm, interrupting whatever it was he was doing. He turned his head sharply towards her, and Sarah looked into unfathomable dark eyes. It was as though he had pulled a veil over his soul.

"Casey, what's wrong?" Sarah asked.

"Nothing," he replied, breaking away from her hold.

"There is something wrong," said Sarah. "I need to know what it is. If we're going to work together on this one, I need to know what's on your mind."

There was no answer and, pausing for a moment to think, Sarah saw a possible connection that might explain the situation.

"It was the picture, wasn't it?" she asked. "It was after we saw that picture that you went all quiet. Please tell me why that picture bothers you so much, Casey."

Casey stopped in the middle of the room. He looked down at the floor for a moment and then up again and into Sarah's eyes. He had lifted the veil and she had never seen such a look from him before. His eyes were so full of pain and sorrow, it made her want to cry and brought forth all her maternal instincts in a rush that caused her stomach to jump. She felt a strong urge to protect Casey the way she had been trying to protect Chuck through their various missions over the past months.

Then it was over and Casey had slipped his guard up again, although not as strongly as before. He indicated that Sarah should sit down on the sofa while lowering himself onto the front edge of the big La-Z-Boy chair opposite her. He leaned forwards, placed his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands in front of himself.

"Walker, I know you know a fair bit about me," he began. "I'm sure you've read whatever file they've got on me at the CIA."

When Sarah opened her mouth to protest, Casey raised his hand into the air between them. "No, no," he said. "It's not a problem. I read the NSA file on you. It's standard operating procedure so it's not a problem."

He paused and, eyes directed towards the floor, ran his tongue over his lips, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before he continued.

"Sarah, I know you think I'm a burnout – damaged goods. Sometimes I feel like I've done so much and seen so much that it could be true. But they can't put everything in a file. Sure, there were psych tests and all that but they're only analysts' statistics and probabilities. They can't actually get inside someone's brain and know everything that's in there."

He paused again, clearing his throat. His head dropped into his palm as he briefly rubbed his forehead. Sarah could see the moment when he made the decision to carry on.

"Sarah, when I was on my military tours, I saw things, awful things. I hoped I'd never have to see them again. Well, that picture..."

Sarah almost jumped up from the sofa to go to his side but repressed the urge. Casey had never been one for opening up and his innermost thoughts hadn't interested her before, but this time, she wanted to hear what he had to say. She wove her fingers together in her lap and waited patiently, intentionally not looking him in the face. Finally, after another couple of minutes' silence, he continued.

"That picture was all my nightmares rolled into one. I've been connected with the military since the ROTC in college. It's a complex culture, one that's hard to explain to an outsider."

"But you didn't know those people," said Sarah. "How is it you are so affected by what happened to them?"

"I don't know," Casey replied soberly. "But it's like seeing members of your family tortured and killed."

Casey stood and Sarah knew that was all she was going to get out of him at the moment. Maybe she could try another time. There was probably no rush, really. They'd been working together for months now and he had just told her more about himself – his personal self – than would ever be contained in any CIA file.

Just then, a light began to flash on the communications console and Casey reached over to pick up a remote, clicking on the large wall screen and turning on the audio and video pickups in the room that would connect them with Headquarters in Washington.

"Major, Agent Walker," said the uniformed woman sitting behind a desk.

"General," Casey responded.

Sarah said nothing.

"We have had Chuck's recording transcribed and both the transcription and the recording are with the analysts now. We should have something shortly. Do you think he will be giving us any more?" inquired the general. "It seemed a little incomplete."

"Yes, General," said Sarah, "I think there will be more. Chuck was severely affected both emotionally and physically by the data retrieval. He's at home resting for now. We'll see if he has something further for us later."

Casey cleared his throat, shifted his feet a bit and asked, "General, is there anything new you can tell us?"

"Just that this organization is quite a bit bigger than we feared even earlier today. Fresh intel is coming in quickly now that we know what we're looking for," the general replied.

A man in a dark suit moved into camera range behind the woman's chair and deposited a file folder onto the desk in front of her. Sarah caught a quick glimpse of the red stamp on the cover that read "Top Secret" over the CIA logo.

General Beckman, glancing up and over her shoulder, said, "Thank you, Director."

"This file, Agent Walker, Major Casey," Director Graham explained, "contains what we have so far, including Mr. Bartowski's data. As you can see, it's not very thick. We'll keep you updated as more comes in."

"What's our timeline, General?" Sarah inquired.

"I think we should proceed very carefully on this one," said the general, her brow furrowed in concentration. "It wouldn't do to make a move prematurely. As much as possible, we need to know the full extent of their operations and their strength. We've got to shut them down completely."

"I concur," added the director. "If we don't get the whole operation the first time, there's a possibility they will just go underground and re-form."

"So what we can tell you at the moment," picked up the general, "is that we have decided to put Walker in charge of the operation in your sector."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Sarah. She couldn't entirely keep an eager look of satisfaction from her face.

"Major, we have sent the contents of our file to you through an extremely high-security FTP system. Protect that information," said the general, making sure to fix Casey with her most serious look.

"Yes, ma'am," was all Casey said in reply.

"And we'll be in touch if anything urgent surfaces in the next little while," added the director just before the screen flickered to black.

* * *

Sarah and Casey began the painstaking job of collecting pertinent information right away. Sarah set up file folders and boxes to hold any concrete intel and Casey took charge of the computer files. Using spreadsheets and lists to cross-match new data as it came in and then feeding it back to Headquarters, they slowly built up a picture of the operation in their sector.

Chuck came back to the apartment regularly to look over what they had collected and they made more recordings of what the Intersect revealed. Although Chuck was no longer reacting violently to the retrievals, the frequent flashes were taking their toll on him. Ellie began to regard Sarah with a suspicious look when she escorted Chuck back to the apartment, drained and tired. Sarah was running out of explanations on his behalf but they couldn't stop now: Chuck's information was vital to the operation.

After about a week of analysis, Chuck, who had just finished another taping in Casey's living room, asked Sarah, "So when this part is done, what happens next?"

Sarah thought for a moment, not sure how much to tell him; then decided on the safe approach of not telling him much at all.

"Well, once we've gotten all this together, Headquarters will analyze it along with information they've gleaned from the other sectors and then somebody will tell us what we need to know to do our part," she explained.

"No, I mean what's your role specifically?" Chuck probed.

Sarah hesitated. Casey, who had been listening from the kitchen, came into the room and said, "Bartowski, if there's anything you need to know, we'll tell you. Otherwise, just do your job."

Chuck, instead of answering with a stinging remark the way he would have in the past, just seemed to deflate. Sarah noticed this and reacted quickly. She stood and said to Casey in an icy and controlled tone, "Agent Casey, could we have a moment alone, please."

Shrugging his shoulders and muttering under his breath, Casey turned away and went upstairs. Sarah turned back to Chuck, who was looking at her through weary eyes.

"Chuck, just ignore Mr. Manners there," she said quietly.

When Chuck smiled feebly at this, she continued.

"He's right, you know, we can't tell you everything that's happening. It's not proper field procedure and the less you know the less likely that knowledge could endanger you," she explained.

"For instance," she continued, "if somebody finds out you know something crucial about the operation, they may feel it necessary to use extreme measures to get it out of you."

"You're talking about Ellie and Devon, aren't you?" asked Chuck. "Okay, I can accept that, but isn't there something more I can do for the operation? Casey's good at smashing his way through things, you know, like 'Hulk smash!'; you're good at thinking on your feet and the undercover stuff. There must be something that requires a computer nerd with an overdeveloped Xbox joystick hand."

Sarah smiled at him and Chuck responded with his own smile. "I guarantee, Chuck, if there's any way we can use your special talents, I'll let you know. In the meantime, preserve your strength because right now we need the Intersect more than anything else."

Chuck nodded his head in acquiescence. "Okay," he said. "Take me home?"

"Sure," Sarah responded. "Just let me get my purse. I thought we could spend the evening together. Order a pizza, watch a movie. What do you think?"

"I think that would be great," said Chuck, perking up and looking a bit more like his old self.

They walked to the door together as Sarah activated her wristwatch and brought it to her lips. "Casey, I'm taking the night off," she said into it. "Going for a little R&R."

She put the watch to her ear and heard the single-word reply, "Roger."

* * *

The next morning, Sarah let herself into Casey's apartment, carefully overriding the alarm system with the codes he had given her.

"Casey?" she shouted up the stairs.

"I'll be down in a minute," came a faint male voice.

_He must still be in the bathroom_, she thought as she went into the kitchen. Well, one thing good she could say about working with Casey, a person never went hungry. He had made a fresh pot of coffee and laid out a platter of croissants and Danish pastries along with mugs and two smaller plates and napkins. Helping herself, Sarah calculated how many laps she would have to run per bite. She finally gave up when the number got really high and just enjoyed the fat filled treats.

Casey came down the stairs and into the living room, where Sarah had already started to pull out files with one hand while holding a cheese Danish with the other hand and chewing on a rather unladylike mouthful.

"Have fun last night?" Casey inquired casually. He sat down and fired up the computers, checking to make sure the firewalls were functioning before connecting with Headquarters in Washington.

"Yes, we did," Sarah mumbled around pastry. "Chuck looked like he could use a break and, frankly, I knew I could use one. We had a nice, quiet night at his place and –"

"Please spare me the details, Walker. I haven't had my coffee yet," Casey sniped, getting up to go into the kitchen and pour himself a cup.

"So what did you do last night, Casey?" asked Sarah. "Trim your toenails?"

"Not that it's any of your business," began Casey as he returned to the living room and sipped the hot beverage, "but I sifted through a lot more stuff that came in after you left, sewed a button back on my shirt, and watched an old episode of _CSI: Poughkeepsie_ or whatever it is. Just so you know, they got a lot of stuff wrong."

Sarah smiled to herself. This was more like the old, familiar Casey and she felt on safe ground once again. Whatever the new information was they had received, it must have been something good to get him back into this kind of mood.

Taking the last bite of Danish and brushing crumbs from her mouth with her hand, Sarah reached out towards him and said, "Gimme."

"That's what I like about you, Walker, you're sharp. I don't have to explain every little thing," said Casey, handing her a new file that he had made up the evening before.

Sarah scanned the list that Casey had compiled of the file's contents and then flipped through the various documents and photographs. There was a series of pictures of different warehouses around the harbor showing dark, dirty walls and labyrinthine corridors with liberal amounts of trash and detritus lying about.

"Do we know which warehouse they're using?" she inquired, raising her eyebrows in Casey's direction.

"Not yet," he replied. "They seem to know how to hide."

"Casey," began Sarah, "we should take Chuck to this area. Maybe he can find something out –"

"You know how dangerous that would be, Walker," cut in Casey. "I don't think we should. The general –"

It was Sarah's turn to cut him off as she stated, "The general herself said this was my operation, Casey. I think it would be worth a try. It might move us forward a little more quickly."

Casey glared at her for a moment, his easy camaraderie apparently having vanished at being overruled. His years of taking orders, however, meant that he could suck it up when he needed to, and Sarah's reminder of the general's instructions was enough to bring his temper back on an even keel.

"I just want to say, Walker, that I don't think you should let your feelings for the Intersect get in the way of doing the job properly," he said, observing Sarah carefully for her reaction.

"Any feelings I have for Chuck have to do with the assignment and making sure the Intersect is functioning at optimal levels," she returned indignantly.

"And I think you're thinking about putting him in a dangerous situation to make him happy just because it would make you happy."

"And I think you're upset because your general gave me command of this sector. If I say Chuck goes in, then Chuck goes in. I know what I'm doing, Casey."

"We'll see," Casey grunted, getting up once again and going into the kitchen to pour himself another cup of coffee.


	3. The Plan

Chapter 3: The Plan

"So that's two Wunderbar Wienerlicious Deluxe Combos, two Schmeckt Gut Super Salads, and two large Kirsch Rülpsensodas, gentlemen," explained Sarah, placing the items on a large tray.

Flashing the pair of beefy men wearing private security firm uniforms her patented Sarah smile, she took their money, turned to the cash register, opened the cash drawer, fiddled around a bit to make it look good, then folded the bills in half and returned the full amount to one of the men as the other one collected the tray and carried it to the condiment counter. After loading up with plastic cutlery and containers of Ketchup, mustard and little packets of salt and pepper, they exited the Wienerlicious to sit at an outside table and enjoy their meal.

Chuck, his head turned in the direction of the table where the men were sitting, came into the restaurant, shook his head in disbelief, and approached Sarah, who was once again busy behind the counter.

"Man, those guys sure can eat," he observed. "It's like that's all they ever do," he said.

"Shhh," she admonished. "You're supposed to be ignoring them."

"How can I ignore them?" asked Chuck, spreading his arms widely in front of himself. "They're kinda hard to miss and they're underfoot at the Buy More all the time. The guys in the store can't decide on Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee for a nickname or Hardy and Hardy."

"You mean Laurel and Hardy, don't you?" inquired Sarah absently as she wiped the counter.

"Do either one of them look like Laurel to you?" Chuck asked in turn, swinging his arm around and pointing out the window to indicate both men, who were crammed into the little seats, intent on eating their meals.

"Well, you have a point there," laughed Sarah. "But they're here to look after you while Casey and I are occupied with this mission. We won't be around as much for the next little while, and as Buy More security guards, they can stay as close as Casey does when he's at work."

"Besides," she added, "they don't really get in your way that much, do they?"

"Well, they're not very subtle agents," complained Chuck. "Yesterday, they almost followed me into the bathroom."

"I'll ask them to back off a little bit," said Sarah, looking closely at Chuck.

It was unusual for him to be out of sorts. He was pretty good at taking things as they came and looking for the lighter side of life. Sarah decided to find out what was going on.

"Chuck, what's really bothering you?" she asked, coming out from behind the counter.

Chuck shoved his hands deeply into his pockets and looked at the floor. When he didn't say anything to Sarah right away, she began to feel real concern and came closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. He raised his head and looked into her eyes, pouting.

"You guys are supposed to be my handlers and you're not handling me like you used to," he said.

Sarah smiled at this and was going to reply with a joke but decided against it when Chuck didn't smile at his own double entendre. Instead, she came even closer, putting her arms around his waist and linking her fingers behind him.

"Go on," she prompted.

"Well, I feel kind of useless. I know I'm The Great Intersect and all that, but I want to do more. You and Casey are doing something really important and I feel like I'm just sitting on the bench."

Chuck paused for a moment and looked at Sarah. She could see the pain of a memory in his eyes. He gazed over her shoulder into the middle distance, then closed his lids. Opening his eyes and turning his head once again to look at her, he added, "Just like basketball in high school."

Looking up into his serious face, Sarah explained, "I know, Chuck, and once this is over, things will go back to normal, but for now, please just be patient. You know how important this mission –"

Glancing around behind Chuck, Sarah noticed just in time that Scooter was approaching the door. Suddenly tightening her arms and pulling Chuck abruptly to her body so that the motion forced his breath out of his lungs in a little "Ooph," she whispered, "Kiss me. Now."

Not waiting for a second invitation, Chuck pulled his hands out of his pockets and wrapped his arms around Sarah. He took the opportunity to make it convincing, and Sarah, thinking, _Might as well enjoy it_, melted into him and gave as good as she was getting.

Scooter entered the Wienerlicious and passed by the two of them, still locked in a tight embrace, apparently oblivious to the rest of the world. He cleared his throat loudly and then tried again when that didn't seem to have any effect.

Finally coming up for air, Sarah and Chuck broke apart. Sarah felt a little disoriented and Chuck had a large grin plastered across his face that looked like it was going to be there for a while.

Sarah, weaving slightly, went behind the counter to collect her purse. She came back around and took Chuck's hand. They were just about to leave when Scooter said, "Hey, Nerd Herd guy. I think you should know, man-to-man, keep an eye on your woman."

"Bye, Scooter," Sarah called out as she and Chuck turned to go out the door.

Chuck, still smiling from the kiss, asked Sarah, "What did he mean by that?"

"Oh, nothing," Sarah replied.

* * *

Sarah walked into Chuck's room ahead of him and plunked down onto the bed. Dropping her purse and shoes onto the floor, she swung her legs up and laid herself down, releasing a long sigh. Chuck, lifting her ankles into the air, sat down on the bed, placed her legs over his thighs and began massaging her feet.

"Mmmm, that feels good," she breathed as he worked the muscles from her toes up to her ankles. "But nobody's around to see it. Why do the boyfriend thing now?"

"Well, the way I figure," said Chuck, carefully working a kink out of a tiny muscle at the base of her left big toe, "practice makes perfect. Any chance of practicing that kiss thing again? I think I could do better."

Sarah, pulling her foot out of Chuck's grasp, swung her legs around and sat up, swatting at his arm on the way.

"If you had done any better, I might have passed out," she said, laughing. "Where does a computer nerd learn to kiss like that?"

"Lots of time to think, I guess," replied Chuck. "But there really is no substitute for practical experience," he added, raising his eyebrows and looking at Sarah earnestly.

Standing, Sarah commented, "Nice try, Casanova."

She turned to face him, all traces of playfulness gone from her face.

"Seriously," she began, "Chuck, we have to talk. I need you for a recon mission and it may be dangerous. I need to know that you're ready for it."

"Of course I'm ready for it!" Chuck shouted, springing up from the bed and almost knocking Sarah over in his enthusiasm. "Finally, some real action!"

Sarah sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the spot beside her. Once Chuck had sat down and appeared more attentive, Sarah began.

"Tell me more about that disk, Chuck, you know, the one that you said is in the warehouse."

Chuck, his brow clouding with the memory, explained, "I don't know specifically what's on it; I just know it has information about their entire operation, you know, who's in charge and what the ultimate goal is and that kind of thing. And as far as I could tell, there's only one copy for security reasons."

"Which would make it very valuable to them and very hard to get at," added Sarah. She thought for a moment longer.

"Well, good. That's probably the best place to start, then," Sarah said decisively. "I'll have to run it by Casey and get his input, but I think we should go to the warehouse area and see if we can find out exactly where they are. Maybe we can figure out a way to get this disk."

"But you have to promise me," Sarah said, turning so as to fix Chuck's attention on what she was about to say, "to do what we tell you. Don't question, don't hesitate, just do it, all right?"

"I promise," said Chuck solemnly, making a crossing motion over his heart with this left hand and raising his right palm into the air. "Wanna spit on it?"

"No, I think the promise will be adequate," said Sarah, smiling.

They sat for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Sarah?" asked Chuck quietly.

Sarah, already well into formulating a plan for the recon mission, turned her head towards Chuck. He jumped up and back onto the bed and was once again in motion, bouncing in the middle of the bed on his knees in his excitement.

"Hmmm?" she inquired.

"Can I use some night binoculars or an infrared scope or a death ray or something on this mission?" he asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought.

"I'll see what I can do," said Sarah. Smiling, she slipped her shoes back on and picked her purse up from the floor.

* * *

Back in Casey's apartment once again, waiting for a scheduled communication from Headquarters, Chuck kept up a steady stream of questions that Sarah answered absently and Casey ignored completely. Just as Casey was about to turn and tell Chuck to shut up, a small red light started to flash on the equipment console. When Casey had turned everything on and the three of them were lined up to view the screen, General Beckman and Director Graham flicked to life in front of them.

"Agent Walker, Major Casey, Mr. Bartowski, thanks to the analysis you've been giving us, we've been able to put together a more complete picture of what's been going on. Here's what we have to this moment," began the general.

The director picked up where she had left off. "Our bad guys, as we've already told you, are members of a splinter group. They had their origins in Perogia under the umbrella of a larger group interested in independence from the main government, but apparently things weren't moving quickly enough for them, so they have split off and are now running under a name that means 'Brotherhood for Liberation'."

"Director Graham, I thought the secession faction in Perogia used more peaceful methods, you know, mass public demonstrations, publishing short political tracts, that sort of thing," said Sarah.

"The mother group still does," explained the general. "They always had a strict policy of violence for defense only and were very stringent in their enforcement of it within the group. The Brotherhood, apparently, was not happy with the restrictions this placed upon their operations."

"Killings similar to the ones you've already seen evidence of have been perpetrated in Great Britain, Canada, France and Germany, where military leaders were kidnapped, mutilated and killed, so they're obviously trying to send a message," said Director Graham. "All the victims were highly placed but not the highest of ranks in their respective services."

"But they were all military targets, right?" inquired Casey, an intense look of concentration on his face.

"Correct, Major Casey," answered the general.

"So, Major, Agent Walker, Chuck," she continued, carefully pausing before each name and turning her head to regard them in turn, "we find ourselves in the position of working with international intelligence agencies and several branches of agencies internal to the U.S."

"Which means," added the director, who also paused in order to underline the serious nature of what he was about to say, "that we will be doing our stuff on a world stage."

Sarah glanced briefly in Chuck's direction as he nervously shifted his weight and licked his dry lips.

"Of course we'll do our best," responded Sarah when the silence stretched to an uncomfortable length.

"Which, in your particular case, will not be adequate," intoned the general, staring into Sarah's flushing face.

"Your sector has the Intersect," she continued, "and I don't believe I need to tell you how valuable an asset it is. That means you'll be watched carefully by everyone who knows of its existence, which includes my and the director's superiors. I'm thinking I don't need to explain to you why this is important."

"No, ma'am, you don't," Sarah replied. She had regained her composure and straightened her spine, gazing confidently back into the two sets of eyes looking out at her from the screen.

"Agent Walker, we have arranged for a war room to be set up at a secure location near you," explained the director. "There, you will be able to collate your data and muster any other help you need for your sector's operations. We will also be feeding you information from other sectors and, in fact, from our international friends to see if the Intersect can assist with the bigger picture."

The general continued, "We'll be sending the location and security protocols to Major Casey's apartment probably tomorrow. Please feel free to use any and all available resources, Agent Walker, and use them well."

Sarah inclined her head slightly. "Yes, ma'am, and thank you, ma'am," she said.

"So in conclusion," Director Graham picked up, "our analysts believe this is a small group that is trying to call world attention to their demands and has gotten a little too ambitious. The consensus among the various agencies is that it should be a fairly straightforward matter to contain them."

"So keep up the good work," finished General Beckman, "and we are looking forward to being able to tie this up relatively quickly now."

* * *

After the briefing was over, Chuck decided to go back to his apartment to have dinner with Ellie and Devon and get some sleep before his early morning shift at the Buy More, leaving Sarah and Casey to burn the midnight oil.

Once Chuck had gone out and closed the door behind him, Sarah briefly outlined her plan for the recon mission to Casey.

"I don't like it," he growled from the kitchen.

"I know," replied Sarah testily. "But you're still going to do it, aren't you?"

"Of course I am," he replied, coming into the living room. "What do you take me for?"

"All right, calm down. I'm not questioning your professionalism or your sense of duty," said Sarah, clearing a space on the coffee table.

Casey put down two plates and cutlery and returned to the kitchen to retrieve a platter of roast beef and vegetables along with a bowl of mashed potatoes. Setting the food on the table, he dished out generous portions.

"Whoa, whoa," said Sarah when her plate almost began to overflow.

Casey looked up, shrugged, and added a couple more spoonfuls to his plate before taking the bowl and platter back to the kitchen. He returned once again, saying, "Gravy?" holding out a white china gravy boat.

"Sure, thanks," Sarah assented. She watched the growing gravy lake on her plate, stopping Casey before it spilled over onto the table.

Picking up her fork and taking a mouthful, Sarah rolled her eyes in rapture at the taste.

"Wherever did you learn to cook like this?" she asked, eagerly scooping up another forkful.

"KP duty," Casey replied, sitting and chowing down himself. "Food for five hundred hungry guys at a sitting."

"Oh, and some tips from Ellie," he added around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "Notice how the gravy isn't lumpy?"

"I noticed," said Sarah, amused at the pride in his voice.

They ate in companionable silence, which was just as well, since Sarah probably couldn't have given proper concentration to the job while eating such delicious food. When they had finished, Casey cleared the dishes away and stacked them in the sink to be washed later.

Coming once again into the living room, he paused in the middle of the floor and stood there, looking at Sarah as she busily arranged files and checked off lists.

Sarah, intent on her work, spoke to him, saying, "I thought we could go in at night. When we get an ID on the building and move in close, Chuck could maybe get a look through a window and see if he flashes on anything. You can cover the rear and we can set a van up just outside the harbor area with a backup team. Maybe we'll even have time to hook up some video surveillance and –"

"It's too dangerous to take the Intersect in," Casey said flatly.

Sarah paused in her work and looked at him, her face severe. "I know. You've pointed that out already."

"And you're ignoring me so Bartowski can pretend to be a spy."

Sarah was really incensed now. There was almost an electrical charge in the room between them as they faced off and tried to stare each other down.

Finally, Sarah, her voice carefully controlled, ground out between clenched teeth, "I'm not doing this to indulge Chuck. I think he and the Intersect are our best chance of finding this disk and getting a real handle on what this Brotherhood for Liberation is up to."

"And I'm telling you, Walker, it's a mistake to bring him that close to their operation. You heard the General say how valuable the Intersect is. Hell, we wouldn't be here doing this baby-sitting job if it wasn't," said Casey, his voice becoming steadily louder as he tried to convince her.

Sarah had had enough. She didn't want to hear any more lectures from Casey on the importance of the Intersect. She knew it was important. Chuck was important. And she couldn't be at her best if Casey kept raising doubts in her mind.

She had held this particular card close to her chest for a long time. It was valuable but now, Sarah considered, was the time to play it.

Turning to look Casey squarely in the eyes, she softly said, "Prague."

Casey reacted as if he had been punched in the stomach. He narrowed his eyes and searched her face. Finding only steely resolve, he said, grumpily, "Fine," and sat in front of the computers to resume his work.


	4. The Mistake

Chapter 4: The Mistake

Sarah, Chuck and Casey entered a large, open room that was partially furnished with some mismatched desks, chairs and a few pieces of office equipment. Workmen's tools were stacked in one corner; exposed wires and other evidence of an incomplete renovation were visible.

"What's this?" asked Chuck, turning his head this way and that to take it all in.

"War room," replied Casey as he put a plain cardboard box he had been carrying on top of one of the desks.

"Or it will be once it's finished," Sarah added.

"What's that?" Chuck inquired, pointing to the box.

"This?" said Casey, pointing as well. "This here? Just the most crucial piece of equipment in any government operation. Nothing would get done without this."

Chuck grew excited and rushed over to Casey's side. "What is it? A special decoder? A fingerprint identifier? A bioreader? What? What?"

Sarah laughed at Chuck's enthusiasm. She hadn't seen him this animated for quite a while. Even Casey was smiling now as he pried the box open and pulled out...

A coffee machine.

"Very funny, Mr. Secret Agent, very funny," said Chuck, lightly punching Casey on the upper arm.

Casey faked feeling pain from the punch and cowered. Chuck began to shadow box with the big man, jumping around him, smiling and spouting patter about butterflies and bees and Casey not being so tough now that he had met his match. Casey feinted in return, being careful to pull his punches, any one of which, Sarah knew, had they connected, would have knocked Chuck out cold.

"All right, you guys, let's get serious. We don't have a lot of time here."

Sarah hadn't wanted to put a damper on their playfulness. They had all been working so hard to bring the mission together, especially Sarah, and it was the first bit of real lightness she had felt for the past couple of weeks. She was also very glad to see Chuck returning to his old ways and was reluctant to be the heavy, but the job had to get done.

"Casey and I are going to be spending a lot of time here, Chuck," explained Sarah, hands on hips, turning to survey the room. "This is a secure building, and once everything is set up, we'll probably ask you to come in from time to time to help us out again."

"And bring the Intersect with you," grunted Casey. He indicated to Chuck that he needed help moving the desk with the coffee machine on it, and Chuck went around to the end opposite from Casey. They lifted it into the air and shuffled sideways to a spot at the side of the room near an electrical outlet where they put it down again.

"But why here, why now?" asked Chuck, spreading his arms out in front of himself to encompass the whole room.

Sarah, once again, didn't want to give too much away to Chuck about the actual mission so she tried to keep it simple. And, in case she needed reminding, out of the corner of her eye, she caught the warning look Casey shot her way.

"Because we've got too much stuff to keep track of at Casey's apartment and it's time to start field operations."

"Oh," was all Chuck said as his attention was captured by something at the far end of the room.

Running over to the beginnings of some reconstruction, he called out over his shoulder, "What's this?"

"Conference room," clarified Casey, "or it will be once the soundproof walls and communications equipment are installed there."

"Cool!" Chuck exclaimed.

"Yeah, well, it will be a lot cooler when it's actually finished," said Sarah impatiently. "I guess we should go and let the workmen back in. Their lunch break will be over by now."

"Do I get a code name?" Chuck asked Sarah eagerly, bounding back over to her side as she and Casey turned to go back to the elevator.

"Yeah," growled Casey. "Dostoyevsky."

Chuck stopped in his tracks, fixing Casey's back with a quizzical look. "Why Dostoyevsky?" he asked.

"He wrote _The Idiot_, didn't he?" was Casey's snide comeback as the elevator doors slid open.

* * *

The war room reconstruction was finished rapidly thanks to the teams of government builders that worked around the clock installing wiring and lighting and soundproofing the walls.

Inside the large glassed-in boardroom, Sarah was busy briefing her backup team. It was a little difficult when, every couple of minutes, her eye was caught by movement on the other side of the glass partition as she glanced up to see Chuck skateboarding among the empty worktables. Pausing briefly, she glared at Casey, who was standing at the back of the boardroom, arms folded over his chest, and indicated with a sharp nod of her head to the left that he should go out and do something about Chuck.

Casey nodded back in acknowledgement and left the room quietly. Sarah was once again thankful that most of the time the two of them could work well together, although she did hope that Casey would show some restraint and not give Chuck too hard a time.

She continued her briefing, going over maps of the warehouse district, pointing out areas of cover and areas of exposure around the target warehouse, which had now been located, and smiled briefly when Casey slipped silently back into his position holding Chuck's skateboard in his hand.

Sarah's backup team was made up of eight highly trained men and women: four sharpshooters and four small arms and close combat specialists, and they all listened attentively, none of them taking notes as they memorized what they needed to know.

When Sarah called a break a half hour later, Casey approached her, a familiar smirk on his face.

"Dare I ask?" Sarah inquired while slipping some papers back into a file folder.

With a straight face, Casey said, "I asked him if he wanted to play Houdini. He's trussed up in the utility closet. I figure another hour or so and I'll check on him."

"Casey!" Sarah returned in a very threatening tone of voice.

"Relax, Walker, the Intersect is okay. He's setting up some new computers that came in today. Might as well get him doing something useful. The Agency tech is happy to have the help. Says he'll be able to get home to the wife and kids at a reasonable time for a change," explained Casey.

Sarah rolled her eyes and shook her head. A sour, taciturn Casey was to be expected, but this one with all the jokes was starting to fray her nerves.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" she asked, not able to look him in the eye.

Casey noticed her hesitancy right away and became serious.

"It'll be all right, Walker. I'll have your back."

Sarah looked up at him again, grateful that he understood and wasn't going to make her explain and expose her doubts, especially after he had questioned her decisions earlier in the mission.

"Thank –" she began, but Casey cut her off with a raised palm.

"Not necessary. You're my partner. You want Bartowski in for the next session?" He waited for her response, eyebrows raised.

Sarah smiled. "Yes, Casey," she said, her confidence returning in a rush.

"All right, then," he replied, turning on a heel and leaving the boardroom.

* * *

"Isn't this a little snug?" asked Chuck, tugging on the crotch of the body armor that Casey had helped him to put on and squirming around uncomfortably.

"What, Bartowski, do you need a bigger size? Hey, Fong, you got a junior petite in there?" sneered Casey, not waiting for anyone else to appreciate his humor before letting out a loud bark of a laugh.

Casey reached out with both hands and tugged downwards on the tops of the leg openings just above Chuck's hips to adjust the suit. Now seemingly serious, he explained, "If you think this is uncomfortable, Bartowski, imagine how you would feel if it rode up and somebody got a shot off at your balls."

Stuttering slightly, Chuck replied, "Uh, yeah, that would be, um, very uncomfortable indeed, yes."

Chuck slid his eyes to the side to see Sarah's amused smile at the man's banter, which caused him to flush hotly as Chuck thought about the possibility of Sarah pondering the welfare of his boys, now safely tucked away behind the black Kevlar shield.

Sarah, still smiling as she strapped up her own armor, said mildly, "Just help him out, Casey. There'll be time for jokes after we've finished today."

Chuck looked around at the group suiting up in the secure underground parking area of the office building the CIA and NSA had procured as their center of operations. Expecting some kind of negative reaction because of the admonition, Chuck was surprised to note that nobody took offense; rather, they all went about the business of preparing for the upcoming recon mission with silent efficiency, their faces displaying their anticipation.

Chuck was excited as well, although his excitement was mixed with more than a little fear that he couldn't keep from showing on his face. When Sarah saw his brows draw together as he caught his lower lip between his teeth, she quickly finished putting on her helmet and came to his side to begin checking him over.

"You'll be fine, Chuck. Just do what we say when we say it as we rehearsed and we'll be back in no time," she said in a soothing voice guaranteed to calm Chuck down.

Chuck soon became absorbed in watching the team prepare their firearms and Sarah was pleased that he just watched quietly and let them get on with their work. She took the opportunity while Chuck's attention was directed elsewhere to study him and, more importantly, go over in her mind all the reasons he was here with them today about to be thrust into what potentially could be a dangerous situation.

Had she let her ambitions cloud her judgment? Sarah didn't think so. Part of being a leader was knowing when to take acceptable risks. The information that Chuck could glean on this mission might carve months, even years, off their intel gathering about The Brotherhood. Was the value of the Intersect too great to risk in a field operation like this? No again. This is what the Intersect was all about: analyzing data. Having a mobile Intersect certainly had its advantages. The old stationary computer couldn't be used on the ground, so to speak, and Team Bartowski had been able to get into and out of tight situations, once again enabling Sarah and Casey or other teams to mop up the bad guys much more quickly than ever before.

But the most difficult question of all remained: Had Sarah let personal feelings for Chuck, even romantic feelings, cause her to make incorrect decisions? In a way, because the Intersect was a living, breathing human being, it was easier for Sarah to protect him and want to keep him safe than if it were just a machine. The romantic part of the equation was tricky, though. Did Sarah have those kinds of feelings for Chuck? If she did, would they get in the way of her work?

Sarah glanced over at Chuck, whose helmet was slipping down as he bent over to get a closer look at something. At that moment, Casey decided to be helpful by jerking the errant headgear back into place from behind, startling Chuck, who yelped in surprise and spun around just in time for Casey to tug on the helmet's chin strap and bonk Chuck on the top of his head in a traditional good luck gesture that was repeated by the other team members. And when Casey allowed Chuck to bring his fist down hard on the top of the agent's helmet in return, Chuck's grin told Sarah that he truly was in nerd heaven.

Sarah smiled to herself as she watched Chuck scramble into the back of the van, so excited to be a part of something he had only read about in comic books or seen in movies and computer games. He certainly was like no man she had ever met before, and she was at the very least willing to be open-minded about the romance part of the equation. Maybe once the mission was over and The Brotherhood was no more, she would have the luxury of finding out.

* * *

Sarah held her Glock with one hand as she motioned with the other to Casey, who was behind her and out of sight of the warehouse around the corner. Sarah, as point man, was being very careful before making any move. After all, she was responsible for the lives of nine other agents and Chuck as well as the government's entire database of shared intel that he carried in his very vulnerable brain pan. No pressure.

She turned her head left and right to look up and down the alleyway between the warehouse buildings, shifting her eyes upwards and downwards as well to check for anything, like security cameras or optical trip alarms, that may not have been noted on their initial surveillance of the area. Seeing nothing new, Sarah motioned to her rear for Casey and Chuck to move up.

Casey, gun also drawn and alert, turned to find Chuck tugging at the chin strap of his helmet, which had slipped down over his eyes again. The big agent suppressed the urge to sigh mightily and contented himself with an eye roll as he temporarily holstered his gun and reached to help Chuck re-settle the helmet and adjust the strap. Warning Chuck to maintain silence with an admonitory finger in the air between them, Casey grabbed the younger man's upper arm and pulled him into position behind Sarah. He noted the look of mild impatience on her face at the delay and also noted that she cleared it away before Chuck had a chance to see it.

Pointing with her finger to Chuck's chest, as they had practiced in the war room, Sarah then turned and pointed to a grimy window about seven feet up from the alley floor. Chuck and Casey nodded their understanding of her direction as she raised a hand in the air, five fingers visible to the two pairs of snipers on the roofs in the area, who then relayed the signal to the two pairs of ground personnel hidden down other alleys. Dropping her fingers one by one, Sarah gave the countdown.

When the last finger folded into her palm, Casey and Chuck ran around Sarah towards the window where Casey boosted Chuck up to the sill by interlacing his fingers to make a step. The pigeons that had been sitting there flew away, all but one, which stayed in the farthest corner and watched Chuck carefully with its beady black eyes, head turning from side to side.

Chuck grabbed at the windowsill, which was covered in pigeon droppings, the gooey slick making his gloved hands slide back towards his chest. Casey rapidly adjusted his stance as Chuck tried to find a purchase and wobbled, and the glare that met Chuck's glance when he looked down was enough to make him try that much harder to hang on.

When Chuck's motion had stabilized, he peered at the glass, searching for a clear spot to look through into the warehouse floor below. There was only a tiny pinhole-sized gap in the gray accumulation, and Chuck closed one eye, bringing his open eye closer to see if he could make anything out through it. After deciding that it was impossible, he raised an arm to try to wipe a spot clean, but before Sarah could warn him via their interconnected helmet radios not to touch the windowpane, Chuck laid his forearm onto the glass surface.

The result of this misstep was immediate. A claxon alarm sounded from inside the building along with the distinctive thump of several pairs of feet running in unison and a voice shouting orders in an Eastern European language. Expecting from the direction of the noises that the threat would come from inside the warehouse, Sarah and her team were taken by surprise when shots rang out from a perimeter above and behind their position, and Sarah heard two grunts, one from her left and one from her right, as bullets connected with members of her team. She could only hope they hadn't been killshots.

As Casey began to lower Chuck from the window, a sniper shot slammed into the bricks an inch from the young man's head, and he jerked back in alarm at the impact, sending his helmet askew once again. When the bullet exploded, sharp shards of brick went flying in all directions, the largest piece imbedding itself in Chuck's exposed left temple, immediately rendering him unconscious. When Chuck's inert body slumped towards the ground as a dead weight, Casey managed to grab onto him and protect his head from further damage by falling backwards to the ground and cushioning the impact with his body. Unfortunately, the agent couldn't prevent Chuck's right foot from hitting the pavement at a bad angle, and Casey heard the cracks of the snapping bones among the cracks of sustained rifle fire.

Sarah rushed up to the pair who were, by this time, on the ground and helped Casey to his feet, still holding on to Chuck. He hoisted the insensate nerd up and over his shoulder, trying not to jar Chuck's head too much, and took him out by a pre-planned escape route that led to a waiting van. Sarah ducked back into the cover of the alley they had come out of, all the while issuing orders over her helmet radio.

"All units, abort, abort, pull back, pull back," she said in a controlled voice.

The rifle fire was dying down to a few random shots now and Sarah judged that these were just for show to keep the intruders away for good. She once again spoke into her radio.

"All units report. MacArthur, report."

"MacArthur, all out," came the reply.

"Patton, report."

"Patton, one down, all clear."

"Bradley, report."

"Bradley, one down, all out."

"Nimitz, report."

"Nimitz all out, Nimitz all out."

Sarah sighed with partial relief as she turned and left the area at a controlled jog, eyes darting around in search of unfriendlies. She cursed herself inwardly for the two casualties under her command. No, make that three casualties. Chuck had been hit as well. Although she didn't know for sure where he had been hit, she hadn't seen any blood, and Sarah guessed his flak jacket had taken care of the bullet and he had just passed out from the impact. Please, please, let that be what had happened.

Watching Chuck fall so abruptly had sent Sarah's heart into her throat, and as she had run towards him, the sounds of rifle fire and the ping-and-whine of ricocheting bullets all around her, she hadn't noticed something very strange about the scenario. The lone pigeon on the windowsill, instead of flying away at all the commotion, was still occupying his perch, head turning from side to side, beady eyes trained on Sarah's face.


	5. The Regrouping

Chapter 5: The Regrouping

Sarah sat by Chuck's hospital bed, a sad frown distorting her usually pretty face. If Chuck didn't wake up within the next half hour, she would have to leave and get back to the war room to begin picking up the pieces of their disaster of a recon mission.

When the half hour was almost up, Sarah stood and turned to grab her purse before leaving. From behind her, she heard a quiet, "Sarah?" from the bed. She quickly relaxed her face into a sunny smile and spun around, saying brightly, "Chuck, you're awake!"

"Am I?" Chuck slurred quietly. "I thought maybe you were an angel in my dreams."

Sarah was startled by the jolt to her middle this statement caused and was glad when Chuck's eyelid fluttered closed so he wouldn't see the slight flush creeping up her neck.

When she had composed herself again, Sarah reached out and gently laid a hand on Chuck's forehead, pushing his hair away from the eye patch and the large strip of gauze wound around his head. It held a bandage in place over his left temple that concealed a deep gash held together with four sutures. The CIA doctor had said that Chuck had been lucky. If the shard of brick had entered an inch farther back, it might have caused skull fragments to penetrate brain tissue and could have led to impaired memory retrieval, which would have meant an unreliable Intersect at best and a useless one at worst. And Sarah knew the agencies had a disturbing habit of disposing of unusable assets within a frighteningly short time frame.

As it was, Sarah didn't think Chuck would take much comfort from the knowledge that there was no discernable damage to the government's database. Instead, the bone at his temple had been depressed into the underlying tissue enough for it to impinge on an ocular nerve causing what was hoped to be a temporary visual impairment. They had fished out as many of the small pieces of brick as possible and were waiting for the swelling to go down to see if that cleared the visual problem. It was hoped that everything would re-align itself naturally and that Chuck wouldn't need a surgical repair. They also expected more bits of brick to surface from time to time.

Chuck's leg seemed to be the least of his worries, but the break combined with the vision problems were going to put the Intersect out of commission for at least the next two months.

Sarah pulled a chair up close to the side of the bed and took Chuck's hand when he raised it off of the surface of the bed. She could feel a large lump forming in her throat as she watched tears begin to slide out from under the closed lid of Chuck's undamaged eye.

"I'm sorry, Sarah," he whispered, barely moving his lips.

"What are you sorry for, Chuck?" asked Sarah, truly perplexed. "I should be apologizing to you for taking you in there."

"I didn't flash," Chuck explained. Obviously agitated, he squirmed around in an effort to get off of the bed. "I'll go and try again right now," he informed Sarah, who by this time was pushing his shoulders gently but firmly back onto the mattress.

"Shhh, Chuck, shhh. You relax now. You did fine. We'll just figure out another plan, and when you're well, you can help us again."

Chuck suddenly stopped moving as he realized that he couldn't go anywhere even if he wanted to. Sarah figured the drugs must be wearing off and Chuck was only now becoming aware of where he was and that he had bandages on his head and a plaster cast on his leg.

"I'm in the hospital, Sarah," Chuck said, a note of wonder in his voice. Apparently the drugs hadn't worn off completely yet.

"Yes, you are, Chuck," Sarah confirmed. "Your leg is broken and your eye is a bit hurt. It's going to take a little time for you to heal, so I want you to just rest and do what the doctors and nurses tell you."

At that moment, the door opened and Casey came in carrying a large vase of flowers, which he placed on a nearby table.

Chuck, whose cloudy brain had yet to fully absorb Sarah's information about his physical condition, looked at the flowers and then back at Casey, who loomed over the bed not so much with a look of sympathy as appraisal, as though he were trying to assess Chuck's usefulness. So far, he didn't look too impressed.

Both Sarah's and Casey's suspicions were confirmed when Chuck opened his mouth and whispered in a wistful tone, "You brought me flowers, John. Look, Sarah, flowers. From John."

When Chuck's visible eye had fluttered closed after this observation, Casey looked at Sarah and grunted, "The flowers aren't from me, for your information. They're from Ellie. I found her in emerg and told her that Chuck was injured while walking near a construction site. She's going to stop by as soon as she can. I'll go talk to the guys on guard in the hall and tell them to be a little less conspicuous."

Sarah nodded her assent and turned her head back to look at a drugged-up and sleeping Chuck. Before Casey could leave the room, however, Chuck's eye snapped open and became unfocused before rolling up into his skull. Then he suddenly began to tremble and jerk violently on the bed.

"He's having a seizure!" cried Sarah, reaching out to grasp Chuck's shoulders again.

"No, he's not," said Casey, "he's having a flash."

Casey pulled a small digital recorder from his pocket, and a few moments later, when Chuck's tremors had subsided and his vision had cleared, snapped the device on and held it close to Chuck, prompting him with a clipped, "Tell us what you just flashed."

Sarah whipped her head around to shoot an annoyed look at Casey but turned back to Chuck as he began to reel off a list of images triggered by what he had seen during their recon mission. He followed up with an analysis of the data, quickly linking the images together, arranging and re-arranging them in his mind like a jigsaw puzzle, trying to make sense of the information.

When he trailed off and fell again into a restless sleep, Sarah turned to Casey and said, "That's odd. Chuck said he didn't see anything. How could he flash?"

Casey clicked off the recorder, slipped it back into his pocket and said, "He must have seen something, even subconsciously. Maybe it's like a delayed reaction because of the injuries."

Casey stopped speaking and watched as Sarah tenderly laid a palm on Chuck's forehead for a moment before brushing his hair back and trailing her fingertips down the unbandaged side of his face.

When Sarah stood and turned towards him, the big agent gave no sign that he had seen the gesture before he added, "Well, I guess I'd better get that tape off to Headquarters," and he turned and left the room, Sarah reluctantly following him, looking back with a worried expression at Chuck as she closed the door behind them.

* * *

Sarah tossed fitfully in her bed that night. Is this what it was like to be in charge, always worrying about your people, always worrying about your plan, always with the specter of failure visible from the corner of your eye? If it was, Sarah wasn't sure she was cut out for leadership.

She finally gave up on trying to sleep and shrugged her arms into a cotton robe before padding into the kitchen and warming up a mug of milk in the microwave.

Sarah could still see Chuck as he lay in the hospital bed before he had come to, his face slack and pale against the pillow. What if there had been brain damage? What if he still loses his sight anyway? Even without thinking about Chuck personally, how was Sarah going to move the mission forwards without the Intersect?

Then she had a completely new thought. Sarah had been taking Chuck for granted, both Chuck the Intersect and Chuck the man. Like a computer they could just switch on when they needed to, she and Casey had dragged Chuck around, expecting him to perform his little caged monkey trick so they could save the day. And Sarah had even come to assume that Chuck would be there when she was feeling a little blue or unsure of herself with her favorite pizza or a joke or a warm smile and reassuring words. Well, he wasn't here now in either role and it was up to Sarah alone to figure out how to make things work and get the bad guys.

_But_, Sarah thought, _I'm __not __quite __alone. __As __much __as __he __can __be __a __pain __in __the __butt __sometimes__ – __well, __most __of __the __time__ – __I've __still __got __my __sarcastic, __obnoxious, __and __very __experienced __partner_.

Sarah smiled and finished the last of her milk, feeling like she had a direction again. She got back into bed and turned out the light. She couldn't get right to sleep, however, but instead of fretting about it, she thought of some of Chuck's stupider jokes, the ones that had made her laugh loudly from the bottom of her belly, and she giggled quietly in the dark until she fell into a deep and restful sleep.

* * *

The next morning, before Sarah was completely awake, she was sitting in the boardroom of the war room across from Casey. They were going over the transcription of Chuck's flash from his hospital bed. Between sips of coffee, she made notes on a pad of yellow legal paper and tried to stay focused on the task at hand. It was a losing battle. Despite her resolution of the night before, her mind kept wandering at shorter and shorter intervals to thoughts about Chuck and how badly he had been injured. The worst was when she thought again about how much more severe his injuries might have been or even that he could have been killed. And it was her fault.

Sarah was startled back to the present by the sound of Casey's loud, theatrical throat-clearing.

"Walker! Snap out of it!" he practically shouted into her face. "Bartowski is going to be okay. You're here with me now."

"I'm sorry, Casey, you're right," she admitted in a low voice.

Straightening her spine and draining the last of the coffee, Sarah punctuated her determination to stay focused by slamming the empty mug back down onto the surface of the table before she flipped her pad of notes around so Casey could read them.

"As far as I can make out," Sarah said tentatively, "The Brotherhood is a front for something much larger and much more dangerous than the general thought. I'm getting the impression that, with all these hits we're getting on it, there would have to be more than one Brotherhood."

"Well, according to what I'm seeing, that makes perfect sense," said Casey as he handed Sarah his notes. "Chuck's flash keeps referring to 'Brotherhood,' but it could mean something other than the Perogian secession faction."

"Let's get the general to run this idea through, that we're dealing with two different organizations, both called 'The Brotherhood', and see what comes up," Sarah proposed, beginning to feel excited.

"I'll get right on it," Casey said, spinning the nearby computer terminal to face him and beginning to type. He was already peering intently at the screen when he added, "You're a genius, Walker."

* * *

"This is inspired, Agent Walker, Major Casey. It would certainly explain a lot of things, including the severity and brutality of the attacks, their political distribution, and a potential source of funding," said General Beckman, clearly impressed. "I'm going to get our best analysts on this right away and I'll be back to you soonest."

When the general's face had disappeared from their computer screens, the two agents just looked at each other, slow smiles curling the outsides of their mouths up at the same time.

"Walker, I think you've done it," Casey said, his face now split in a large grin.

"Well, don't get all sentimental on me, Casey," joked Sarah, secretly preening under her partner's unaccustomed praise. "We still have a lot of work to do."

Before they had a chance to really celebrate, however, the computer screens flickered again with a picture of the general.

"Bad news, I'm afraid," she said solemnly. "It is big and getting bigger. We've just had reports of more captures in all sectors of not only military personnel but now also some upper-level politicians."

The uniformed woman paused to let this information sink in before continuing.

"Agent Walker, we think this sudden move may have been precipitated by your sloppy recon yesterday; that it's a retaliation of sorts and also an escalation of their operation."

Sarah gasped, her recent joy and enthusiasm at their successful analysis quickly extinguished at this sobering news.

"General, I –"

The general raised her hand into the air.

"No time for that now, Agent Walker," she said sternly. "We have to act just as fast as they are. We still need to get that disk. The newest intel I have is that it was moved last night from the warehouse to the Perogian Embassy in Los Angeles. There doesn't appear to be an obvious connection between the Brotherhood secession faction and the Perogian government, but with a second Brotherhood organization apparently involved somehow, at this point it would be dangerous to make assumptions without hard facts to back them up. So because of that, we can't just ask their government to hand the disk over."

Sarah and Casey nodded in agreement with the general's summary.

"We think they may be preparing to move the disk again, perhaps this time out of the Continental U.S., so you'll have to get in there and get it out right away."

Sarah and Casey glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes before looking back at the screen and nodding simultaneously.

"Good," the general said. "Compile a list of what you'll need and get it to me the moment it's finished. We'll have the items to you and get you underway by tonight, if you can do it that soon."

"Thank you, General," Sarah said. "There is one thing I can think of immediately. Is Nadia Petrovski still a Perogian sleeper agent?"

The General clicked on a keyboard in front of her, then nodded when the information came up on a band at the side of their screens.

"Yes, she is. Good thinking, Agent Walker. If anyone can get us into the Perogian Embassy, Nadia can. I'll wake her right away and get her in touch with you. Until then, Agents, get busy."

And when the general's image disappeared from the screen again, Sarah and Casey paused for a full minute to look at the other's face, as though they were drawing strength from each other, then simultaneously stood and walked out of the office, heading for the washrooms. They both knew from experience that the next few hours were going to be crucial to the entire operation and they may not even have much of a chance to breathe, let alone pee.

* * *

A short time later, Sarah and Casey spoke with Nadia on a secure video channel. The dark-haired beauty arched one carefully shaped eyebrow when she caught sight of Casey and then smiled – with a bit of a predatory air, Sarah thought – before assuming a more businesslike demeanor and outlining her plan.

The heir to the Perogian throne, Prince Wolodin – or "Willy" as he was affectionately known in the popular press – was in Los Angeles on an official state visit and scheduled to go to the opera the next night. Nadia, who was his social secretary, said she could arrange for Sarah to be his date for dinner at the embassy and for Casey to pose as a server in the dining room there. The prince wouldn't know they were part of a covert operation; he would just think he had a beautiful American woman on his arm for the evening.

"And since he's young and particularly good looking, especially in full uniform," Nadia added, a mischievous gleam in her eye, "it won't even be like work. You lucky girl."

Casey just rolled his eyes as the two women giggled.

* * *

After all the arrangements had been run by the general and the final decision was made to wait and infiltrate the Perogian Embassy the following evening, Sarah decided she had time to drop in to the hospital to visit Chuck.

After checking in with the two agents covering the door, she smiled brilliantly as she came into the room and was happy to see Chuck smiling back at her. It looked like the drugs that had been clouding his mind had finally worn off. Unfortunately, since they had also been keeping most of the pain in check, Chuck's smile caused him to wince a bit, which Sarah pretended not to see.

On an impulse, she leaned over at the side of the bed and kissed Chuck warmly on the lips, then stood back up again and said, "Hi."

He smiled again at the kiss, winced again, then said, "Hi to you too. What was that for?"

"Oh, you know, cover," Sarah said noncommittally, turning to pull a chair towards the side of the bed and to hide the pink glow on her cheeks from Chuck's probing eye.

"Well, it wasn't as good as the night nurse but certainly better than the day nurse," he said, a bit of a suspicious look on his face. "I think I'll have to do another comparison run."

Sarah laughed a bit at this, then looked at Chuck with a serious face.

"Chuck," she said, taking his hand, "Casey and I are going on another mission tomorrow night. I just wanted you to know in case..."

Sarah looked at the long, slim fingers tightening around hers for a moment, then began again as Chuck's alarm increased.

"Well, I just wanted you to know," she finished feebly, smiling once more and trying to make it look reassuring.

She had apparently failed, as Chuck became visibly agitated and grasped both her hands in his.

"Sarah," he asked, "you won't be in too much danger, will you?"

"I'll try not to be, but any mission has the potential to be dangerous, as you found out recently," she explained. "But we know where they moved the disk and we still have to get it. It should be a quick in-and-out, and Casey will be with me. I wanted you to know but I don't want you to worry."

"Well, it's a bit too late for that now," Chuck said indignantly, but he took the sting out of his words with another smile-and-wince combination as he pulled on Sarah's arms, and before she realized what was happening, she was in Chuck's embrace and he was whispering into her ear.

"You get that disk, Sarah, and save the world. Then you come back to me, you hear?"


	6. The Repair

Chapter 6: The Repair

Sarah walked out of the washroom and into the war room proper wearing her disguise gown of skin-skimming light peach silk, her hair caught up on the top of her head in a thin diamond-studded circlet, some loose strands of hair cascading out from under it in narrow curls to frame her temples. Thin diamond strings dangled from her ears, and a simple yet elegant choker of diamonds circled her throat ending in two loose ropes of diamonds hanging down her back and sparkling against her bare skin, which was revealed by the low cut of the gown. Some two-sided tape kept it securely in place and confined any indecency to the mind of the observer.

Concentrating on smoothing the wrinkles out of her elbow-length gloves, Sarah stopped and stood in the middle of the room. She was intently reviewing some last-minute details running around inside her head and hadn't yet realized that all conversation had slowly dwindled until the room had fallen silent.

When Sarah finally became aware of the change in the room's atmosphere and raised her head, one arm still in the air with the fingers of the other hand circling the wrist, a long, low wolf whistle sounded from a far corner of the room.

Sarah turned her face to the floor for a moment so she could smile smugly before raising her head again, once more looking cool and in command.

Casey had come jogging over to her side to lend moral support, but when he saw the self-assured look on her face, he mock-leered instead and whispered, "Not bad for a skinny CIA broad, Walker," then leapt to one side as she aimed a swat at his arm, laughing at his remark.

"You're such a gentleman, Casey," she said sarcastically, and took a moment to admire his disguise, a black tuxedo-like waiter's uniform, complete with white gloves. Sarah would never say it out loud, but she had to admit to herself that he filled it out nicely, and from the current look on Casey's face, she suspected he was thinking the same about her outfit.

She straightened her shoulders to give him a better view of the merchandise and to let him know he had been found out trying to take a peek. When his face turned a bit red and he spun away, mumbling something about getting on with it in a too-grumpy voice, Sarah thought, _Well, at least he has the good grace to look embarrassed_, and she followed in his wake, accepting the wrap that he held up behind her shoulders before they made their way to the elevators.

* * *

They drove in silence in a nondescript car to the service entrance gates of the embassy building. It wasn't large compared to some of the other embassies in town but the Perogian government had made up for it with old-world flash, and as Sarah looked up at the gargoyles on the roof with their Medieval snarls and long claws and obscenely pointed tongues, a shiver went down her spine.

_Don't lose your nerve now, Walker_, she thought. _Like you told Chuck, quick in-and-out, then back home in time for hot chocolate before bed_.

Casey, watching her out of the corner of his eye as he drove, said in a mild voice, "Don't worry, Walker, I'm nervous too."

She turned her head to look at him straight on.

"You are?" she asked, her voice full of surprise.

"Yeah," he answered. "What if I spill the gravy?"

Sarah felt her temper rise.

"Casey, how can you not take this seriously when you know it's so important, and –"

Breaking off when she saw his smirk, Sarah realized what he had just done. He had gotten her angry and feisty to take her mind off of her fear.

All she said was, "Thanks. Remind me to punch you later, though," and all Casey did was some more smirking. _Insufferable man_, she thought. But she smiled afterwards.

* * *

When the two agents entered the Perogian Embassy by a back door, as arranged, Nadia was there to greet them. She was petite but curvy, her handsome face and striking figure displayed to best effect by a rather severe hairstyle, a minimum of jewelry and a serviceable but unremarkable black evening gown. Sarah guessed that this allowed her to blend into the background, as a good servant should, without looking too dowdy.

Before Sarah could even say hello, Casey had moved forwards and begun speaking to Nadia in Russian. As he spoke, he took one of the agent's hands and raised it to his lips, bowing slightly as he did so, perhaps to be gentlemanly, perhaps because of the difference in their sizes, but the effect was suave and gracious and took Sarah a bit by surprise.

She could only stand and watch in amusement as Nadia answered back in Perogian, a close dialect of Russian that still allowed the speakers to understand each other perfectly, and Nadia smiled warmly, her eyes traveling up and looking boldly into Casey's before she ended their private greeting on a note of finality, as though she had made a decision, and turned to Sarah.

"Sarah, how lovely to see you again," Nadia began. "I'm afraid we haven't much time as the prince is about to arrive. I think we should have you both waiting in the dining room. That way, the prince's retinue can be dismissed in the hall and we can keep the number of people who see you here to a minimum. All right?"

"It's wonderful to see you again, Nadia, and, yes, that would be perfect, thank you," Sarah replied, following behind Nadia as she turned to lead them through the embassy proper.

When they got to the dining room, Casey took Sarah's wrap from around her shoulders, then positioned himself to one side of the room at a long serving table while Sarah stood by the chair at the end of the dining table where the prince was to sit. When the silence had stretched out for a couple of minutes, Sarah began to feel a bit nervous again and shifted around, pulling at one side of her dress and biting her lower lip.

Casey, noticing her distress, said, "It'll be okay, Walker. Remember, I've got your back."

Sarah calmed down at his reassuring words and they waited again in silence. After another couple of minutes, Sarah's curiosity finally got the better of her and she turned to Casey.

"What were you talking about with Nadia out there?" she asked, a puzzled look on her face.

"Oh, I just asked her for a date," Casey answered in a very offhand sort of way.

"Casey, you didn't!" Sarah responded. "You just met her!"

Casey, looking very self-assured, simply stood at his post and smirked a bit in reply.

After a moment's consideration, remembering Nadia's tone of voice at the end of the exchange, Sarah continued. "Nadia refused, of course," she stated.

"No, as a matter of fact, she accepted," Casey said. "We're getting together in a few weeks when she's back in town, assuming the mission is concluded by then, naturally."

Sarah was a bit bowled over by this information. And by Casey's audacity in asking for a date in the first place.

"But you couldn't have said all that! You only spoke for a couple of minutes!"

"Sometimes that's as long as it takes, Walker. You should try it, like, for instance, with the Intersect. I bet if you asked Mr. Chuckles, he'd let you fool around with his joystick, maybe even the whole PlayStation."

Sarah couldn't think up a reply other than turning bright scarlet. The best she could do was open and close her mouth a couple of times before giving up and turning the spotlight back on Casey.

"So what exactly are you going to do on this date?" she asked in an accusing tone of voice.

"Well, dinner, of course. Nadia even suggested a restaurant we could go to first."

Sarah was thrown off balance again. "First? Then what?"

"Before we have sex, of course," Casey replied, as though this were obvious. "Haven't you dated before, Walker?"

Sarah was starting to do the fish-out-of-water thing again when the dining room door opened and the prince entered. She closed her mouth and curtseyed low as he approached, her cheeks still warm and rosy from her ridiculous conversation with Casey, and when a gloved hand appeared in her field of view, she grasped the fingers lightly and allowed the prince to raise her back up to standing height before him.

"Enchanted, my dear, absolutely enchanted," the prince declared as Nadia made the introductions.

"Your Highness," Sarah said, bowing her head gracefully on her long, slim neck, her cheeks still flaming from Casey's remark.

"I do admire the fresh coloring you American women have, so healthy and invigorating. Do you spend time in the outdoors, Ms. Walker?"

"As much time as I can, Your Highness," Sarah replied, taking his arm as he turned them to walk her down the table. She took a moment to glare at Casey behind the prince's back.

They continued their conversation in the same light vein for a few more minutes until the prince gestured for Casey to come over and seat Sarah before going back to his end of the table and sitting down.

As Casey pushed the chair back under Sarah's bottom, he whispered into her ear, "Men like the blushing thing, Walker. Makes you look virginal." Then he turned away to commence his serving duties.

Sarah had to quickly suppress the urge to laugh out loud at this statement and she distracted herself by removing her gloves and laying them on the table before Casey returned to her to unfurl and place a linen napkin on her lap.

* * *

When the main part of the meal was over, Sarah excused herself to go to the ladies' room. Of course, instead, Nadia directed her to a staircase leading down to the basement where the agencies' intel had indicated the disk was being kept awaiting transport out of America.

Sarah pulled a small but effective pistol from her handbag and cautiously crept around corners, checking first to make sure nobody was in sight. When she got to the room holding the disk, she was relieved to find that the door had a standard lock, easy to pick. Before commencing, she peeked through the glass top half of the door only to discover the room was empty.

Sarah thought this was a bit odd but put it down to the fact that The Brotherhood calculated that nobody would think the disk was in the embassy in the first place and a heavy guard would just draw attention to them. This tactic of hide-in-plain-sight was well-known and had been used by the CIA and NSA on many occasions. Just look at Chuck and the Intersect, for example.

Sarah made quick work of the door's lock and then cased the room. There were video cameras, of course, but she could be in and out very quickly at this rate and back with the prince, finish their dinner and be out of there before anybody really looked. Sarah knew that embassies were run by government employees who didn't like excitement, and she hoped that was the case here, but she still searched the room quickly and quietly, finding one locked drawer in a desk and opening it just as smoothly and quietly as she had the locked door.

The disk inside didn't have the words "Top Secret Brotherhood Database" written on it, but to Sarah's mind it might as well have, and she slipped the disk and its plastic cover into her purse, taking her pistol out again in preparation for leaving the room.

She had looked into the hall through the glass door again and was just pushing the door open when a booted foot kicked it from the outside, closing her left hand in the door and causing sharp pains to shoot up her arm. Crying out, Sarah quickly slipped her gun back in her purse, then pushed hard on the door again so she could get out of the room and not be trapped there. In the hallway were two compact but muscular men. They weren't wearing any kind of uniform other than all-black, the preferred color of hired muscle worldwide, and Sarah naturally assumed they were connected with The Brotherhood.

Try "Lost Little Girl" first.

"Oh, my hand," Sarah said, frowning and summoning up some tears as she rubbed the injured limb. "I don't know what you gentlemen must think, but I'm lost. Can you help me get back upstairs? I'm dining with Prince Wolodin."

"Lady, nobody gets lost down here ever gets un-lost," replied one of the thugs, a very ominous look on his face.

Next, try "Diversion."

Looking past the shoulders of the two men, Sarah waved a hand in the air and called out, "Yoo-hoo! Nadia! I'm right here!" and shifted her gaze back to the men momentarily to explain, "Nadia, the prince's aide, is here to get me, so I'll just say good-bye."

Sarah pushed between the men as they turned around to see who Nadia might be. Unfortunately, she didn't get very far down the hall before she felt a strong hand grip her upper arm, bringing her to an abrupt halt and spinning her back around.

"Not going to work, lady," the talkative thug said, almost tugging Sarah off of her feet.

She shook her arm out of his grip and said, "All right, all right, no need to get rough."

Step three, "Big Diversion."

Spotting a janitor's wheeled bucket and mop out of the corner of her eye, Sarah dropped her handbag to the floor and slipped out of her dress, adding it to the pile. If she had to fight, might as well keep the dress clean in case she got out of this to return upstairs. And it did make for a very effective diversion.

Sarah kept her gaze fixed on the now-bulging eyes of the thugs as they took in her well-muscled and shapely form, naked torso tanned and smooth and upper thighs outlined by lacy garters and stockings. Fortunately, they hadn't gotten as far in their inspection as her sharp high heel before it slammed into the cheek of first one thug, then the other in a controlled, graceful and powerful roundhouse kick that sent them both sprawling backwards onto the hall floor, hitting the backs of their heads.

Sarah knew that she would have to be very lucky for this to knock both men out, and she was right. Only the first one she had hit was out cold. Mr. Chatty just shook his head and gave a mighty heave, springing back onto his feet and advancing on Sarah, yelling out a martial arts bellow as he did so. Sarah turned and grasped the mop, swinging it out of the dirty gray water and spraying the man in the face, throwing grit and greasy liquid into his eyes and temporarily blinding him. Then she reversed the mop and drove the wooden end into his solar plexus, smiling at the satisfying "Oomph!" he let out as he folded in half and fell to his hands and knees on the floor. Another jab to the back of the neck, and he was lying prone in a pool of dirty water, arms splayed out over his head.

Sarah had turned and was bending over to reach for her purse when the man suddenly got up again, shaking his head like an enraged bull before throwing himself towards her once more. When he reached her, he stomped hard on Sarah's right hand with his booted foot and then on her left hand, which she had also placed flat on the floor so she could crouch down and feel for her purse. When she looked up at him, he completed his attack with a sound punch to her right cheek and nose, and she flipped over and fell hard on her back onto the floor, arms and legs flying outwards from the momentum of the spinning motion.

Sarah thought she might have been unconscious. She hoped it hadn't been too long, and she tried hard to clear her head and her vision so she could assess the situation. She figured it must have only been for a moment, though, when she could see enough to make out that the verbose thug had decided that a mostly naked unconscious woman lying on her back in front of him was too good to pass up, no matter what orders may have been to the contrary, and he was in the process of undoing his belt as he kneeled down between her legs and put his unoccupied hand on the floor above her shoulder.

Peeking out through barely opened eyelids, Sarah waited until he looked away from her face and towards his crotch as he struggled to get his zipper down with one hand, and she raised her leg and let him have it, again with the heel of her shoe, right where he was looking.

He let out an extremely loud and pain-filled howl and fell to the side, allowing Sarah to jump up and grab the mop again, reversing it and using the blunt wooden end to hit him – Sarah hoped for the final time – hard on the back of the head, this time knocking him out so he would stay out.

She looked around the hallway quickly and saw the janitor's closet, looked inside and found a length of rope and some duct tape. She dragged the two men inside and tied them up back-to-back, running duct tape around both their mouths and their heads, fastening them together with it, then duct taped each man's hands and ankles together in front of him. She made sure to place them away from the door so they couldn't kick it from the inside if they came to sooner than she needed to finish upstairs and leave.

Going back out into the hall, Sarah slipped her dress back over her head and picked up her handbag. She felt her cheek with tentative fingers and hissed at the pain when she depressed the tender flesh. It didn't seem to be broken, but she decided it would probably be better to stop in the washroom after all to assess the total damage. When she got there and checked the time, she was relieved to see that only ten minutes had passed since she had excused herself from the dining room. Another five minutes or so in here would not be an unreasonable absence.

And she had the disk.

_All in all, not too bad_, she thought, standing in front of the mirror. She pulled a makeup compact from her purse and began her repair work, flinching as her hands began to throb and burn.


	7. The Abduction

Chapter 7: The Abduction

So there she was, sitting in the dark of the opera box wondering when the screeching would be over so she could leave and wind up the operation.

Maybe once Director Graham and General Beckman had stopped congratulating her and Casey had finally admitted that things had turned out all right after all, they would let her take a little vacation, just long enough to recharge her batteries.

Sarah idly fingered her gloves and had started to let her mind drift away again to possible vacation destinations when she realized the house lights were up and the audience was on its feet clapping loudly.

She glanced over and saw that the prince was still seated and, as he turned his head to smile in her direction, she smiled back. He was not applauding so Sarah decided it was safest to abstain as well. She continued to smile brightly at the prince, focusing his attention on her face as she hastily drew her gloves back on, hoping that he hadn't noticed any of the blue and purple marks that were starting to show on her pale skin.

The prince gestured his approval of Sarah's civilized decorum with his eyes and observed, "Such a nasty noise to follow such divine music, don't you agree?"

Definitely not in agreement with this statement, Sarah nodded her consent, murmuring, "Your Highness," and stood when he did. She could feel Casey behind her pulling her chair out of the way and, as she turned, he reached out to open the door of the box.

The prince preceded Sarah into the hallway, where they were joined by his personal assistant, the Perogian agent, Nadia. They walked towards an elevator that went directly to the parking garage below the theater. It was being held especially for their use and, once inside with the doors closed, the prince visibly relaxed and turned to the petite woman in the black gown.

"Nadia, have all the arrangements been made to see that Ms. Walker gets home safely?"

"Yes, Your Highness," answered the woman, who was unobtrusively punching a text message by touch into her BlackBerry with one hand while looking at the prince.

"Good, good," was his reply.

Turning to Sarah with a sincere smile, he remarked, "Ms. Walker, you have been a most captivating companion. I hope when next I visit your charming country you will do me the honor of accompanying me once again."

Sarah inclined her head at the compliment but couldn't help thinking _Oh, please, not another opera!_

The prince must have been reading her mind. With twinkling eyes, he continued, "Perhaps on the next occasion we can go to a baseball game and eat – how do you call them? – red hots?"

The three burst out laughing at this, and when the merriment had died down, Sarah, smiling genuinely for the first time that evening, said, "Yes, of course, Your Highness, that will be fun."

By this time, the elevator had reached the parking level and the doors slid open. The trio exited and walked towards two nondescript cars with black-tinted windows parked nearby.

The prince briefly said his good-byes and got into the first car. After Nadia had closed the door behind him, she walked back to Sarah and said in a low voice, smiling, "Remember, Sarah, call me any time you need me."

"Of course I'll call you, Nadia, and thanks," Sarah replied.

Before the Perogian agent could turn away, Sarah placed a light hand on her arm and asked, "Nadia, did Casey really ask you for a date earlier?"

"Of course," the petite woman replied. "Although I believe I have changed my mind."

Sarah smiled, thinking, _Ha! Casey's going to be disappointed after all_, when Nadia continued.

"I think dinner in a restaurant would be a waste of time with a man such as that one. Perhaps room service will do, hmm?"

And Sarah was left speechless for the second time that evening as Nadia walked away and called over her shoulder, "Give your partner a big, wet kiss for me and tell him I'm looking forward to meeting him again."

Sarah opened the door to the back seat of the second black car and climbed in, putting on her seatbelt once she was comfortably in place. She watched as Nadia got into the back seat of the car beside the prince and closed her door. A moment later, the first car pulled away.

_I wonder what's taking Casey so long_, thought Sarah. She knew that he had remained in the opera box after she and the prince had left so he could change into the chauffeur's uniform that he had brought in and hidden in the theater the day before.

Sarah relaxed into the seat cushions and closed her eyes for a moment. When the driver's door clicked open, she raised her lids and was about to ask Casey what had delayed him when the words froze in her throat. The man who had gotten into the car was not Casey.

Ignoring Sarah's loud protests, he quickly turned the key in the ignition and locked all the doors. Sarah grabbed the door handle a fraction of a second too late and, when she tried to unlock her door, found that the stranger had also activated an override on the locks.

Sarah then turned and fumbled for her handbag, which was lying on the seat beside her, opened it and pulled out her little gun, aiming it between the front seats. By this time, the tinted bulletproof partition between the front and back had just finished sliding into place, effectively making Sarah a prisoner in the car.

The communications system between the driver and passenger sections crackled a bit as the driver turned it on.

"I thought you might have spotted me in the press gallery at the theater," a low male voice said, "but luckily for me, you did not."

Sarah pushed the button on the door handle with a picture of a little loudspeaker beside it.

"I did see you. Who do you work for? Let me go," she said, carefully keeping the panic out of her voice.

Instead of answering her questions, the driver clicked the speaker system off, eased the car into drive, pulled out of the parking spot and drove away. Sarah turned her head to look out of the back window in time to see Casey barrel through a door leading from the stairway into the parking garage. He paused long enough to get a good look at the car and, Sarah hoped, the license plate before he ripped the chauffeur's hat from his head and dashed it to the ground in frustration. Just before the car turned a corner to block Casey from her sight, Sarah could see that he had taken a cell phone from his pocket and was going to make a call. She felt a little better already and turned her head once again to the front, looking out the windows to try and keep track of where they were going.

It wasn't too hard at first, up and out of the opera house's underground parking lot, right turn, next left. But when gas started hissing into the back seat compartment, Sarah's attention became focused on trying not to breathe and wondering if the gas was meant to kill her. As first her arms and legs and then her spine relaxed, she contented herself with the thought that it was probably just a soporific. She just wished that she had had one more chance to see Chuck and make sure he was going to be all right before she drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

When she awoke, her head feeling as though it had been rewired all wrong, Sarah was strapped to a metal chair that was bolted into a cement floor. She was secured at her ankles and wrists, not uncomfortably so, but she still tested her bonds to see whether there was any weakness she might be able to exploit. Her evening clothes had been replaced with blue mechanic's overalls, her feet left bare, and her hair had been pulled away from her face and held in place with an elastic in a ponytail down her neck. They must have also scrubbed her makeup away and removed her false eyelashes, since her face felt completely clean and fresh.

Wherever she was, it was very dark, with just a lone floor lamp positioned near the chair and pointing towards the floor to relieve the blackness so that Sarah could only see about three feet into the gloom in front of herself and to the sides when she turned her head. After her short inspection, she waited quietly, senses on full alert, hoping to get more information about her surroundings. Suddenly, two men appeared out of the darkness on silent feet, and Sarah turned her head back to the front as they approached her.

The more intelligent-looking one was holding the disk up in the air so Sarah could see it.

"Ms. Walker," he began, as though they were about to have a congenial conversation, "I don't want to waste your time and, I assure you, you don't want to waste my time."

Sarah decided a stony silence would be best under the circumstances.

"Good," the man continued. "Now, we will try to make this as simple as possible. We have brought you here because –"

"I won't tell you anything," Sarah broke in, a hard look on her face.

"Oh, no, my dear, patience, please. We don't want you to tell us anything."

"Then why did you bring me here?" Sarah asked, thrown off balance by this information.

"We brought you here because we want to show you something," the man said, raising his hand and snapping his fingers to signal to the silent one behind him.

The second man approached Sarah, bringing some kind of device up to her face. She whipped her head from side to side, trying to avoid whatever it was that he had in his hand, quickly yelling out, "No, no! My people will be here to get me soon! Let me go!" But when the man put the device on her lap and grabbed her by the throat with both hands, squeezing sharply to depress her Adam's apple and cut off her air supply, she could only resist for a moment more, and she watched groggily through a haze of gray as he slipped a bite bar between her teeth and gently adjusted the padded mouth cover in place before running two sets of straps behind her head and fastening them snugly to hold the apparatus in place.

When Sarah was able to breathe well enough so her head had cleared again, she glared defiantly once more at the first man, who took up a position directly in front of her and picked up his explanation where he had left off.

"Ms. Walker, as I was saying, we have brought you here to show you something. The messages we have sent up to now have not been as effective as we would have liked. Your government and those of the other nations that we have chosen to send our message to are timid, afraid to take a decisive stand, so we find ourselves in the position of having to sharply escalate our – let us call them 'activities.'"

Sarah had to turn her head from side to side now to keep the man in view as he began to walk casually to her left and then turned and retraced his steps to the right, his eyes on the floor and a look on his face as though he were concentrating on getting the words just right before he raised his head again and continued.

"The Brotherhood – ah, I see you've heard that name – is determined to bring about a certain event. So determined, in fact, that it will stop at nothing until its aim is accomplished. Now, you might think this is a bad thing, and it appears so at first blush, but I assure you, it will mean an eventual vast improvement in the lives of several millions and perhaps, after some time, billions of people all around the world."

He stopped in front of her again, looking for all the world like a sincere and learned scholar delivering his favorite lecture. And Sarah was his captive audience.

"All we need now is the cooperation of the nations of the world with the military strength and political influence to join us in our endeavors. We tried to approach them through regular channels but were ignored. So much for diplomacy, hmm?"

Sarah was unable to join the man in appreciation of his little joke and continued to fix him with a steely glare, her brows drawn tightly together over her nose.

"So we were left with no alternative but use, shall we say, more graphic methods to promote our proposal. And this is where you come in."

The man then approached Sarah's chair, bending down so his face was close to hers, close enough so she could smell a delicate, tangy aftershave of the best quality and see that he had recently had a very close shave and his fingernails were carefully manicured.

Whispering into Sarah's ear, he said, "Please, Ms. Walker, make yourself as comfortable as possible. I have been instructed to ensure that you understand in no uncertain terms what the situation is, and so we may be here for some time until you reach a satisfactory level of understanding."

He straightened up and turned, moving away from the chair, and made another signal with his hand. Apparently there were other people present outside of Sarah's field of vision delimited by the weak light from the lamp, and she could hear the movement of several pairs of feet, presumably of unseen minions hurrying to do this man's bidding.

He turned back to Sarah again and said, "You will be a messenger for us. And here is the message once more, since it bears repeating: We will not stop until we get what we want."

The man paused and raised his eyes towards the ceiling, Sarah figured for some kind of dramatic effect, and clapped his hands twice. The lights came up swiftly, blinding Sarah with their brightness. She blinked several times, looking around herself, and discovered that she was inside a warehouse, probably the same one that she and Chuck and Casey had tried to see into on their failed mission.

Sarah cursed the gag they had put on her, wanting to ask what the message was and demand her release so she could deliver it for them. Wasn't that what the man had just said? But it seemed they were going to make her wait to find out why she was being held here, and she snapped her head to the right when she heard the creak and squeal of a large metal door that was beginning to swing open on its rusty hinges.

"Ah, here they are now," the man said, as though the first guests were just arriving for an elegant evening party.

When the door had opened fully, two uniformed henchman entered carrying submachine guns and flanked the entrance. Then a procession of gagged men and women, some in military uniform, some not, came through the door, hands tied behind their backs. More armed guards were following beside them at intervals, coaxing them along rapidly.

The prisoners appeared to be of ages ranging from early 20s right up to 60s, maybe even 70s, and some were having trouble moving as quickly as their guards wanted them to. Sarah gasped but no sound came out because of her gag when one of the guards reversed his rifle and aimed the butt at an old man who was having difficulty walking, jabbing him sharply in the kidneys with it and causing him to fall to his knees.

Sarah could only watch helplessly as the man's tears fell on the cement before another guard hauled him up by his bound wrists and pushed him back into the line, which now consisted of about twenty people. With more pushing and prodding and gesturing with the barrels of their rifles, the guards made their captives stand in a single line in front of Sarah's chair, the cultured man standing in front of them, as a new noise could now be heard from above.

Sarah turned her head up and watched as the warehouse's overhead gantry moved towards her along the length of the building's ceiling and stopped when it was aligned with the row of people standing and waiting quietly, fear and bewilderment showing in each one's eyes. The next sound Sarah heard caused her to turn her head to the left, and her eyes now mirrored the fear that she had seen in the others' as she recognized what was swinging towards them.

There were twenty stout chains hanging down, swaying left and right as they slid smoothly along their track and stopped, one behind each person in the line. Twenty chains, each ending in a sharp and shiny meat hook.

Sarah groaned and her eyes widened in shock as two beefy men, one carrying a sledge hammer, approached the first woman in line to Sarah's left. They went around behind her, the one man positioning the hook to point to the middle of her back, the second one taking one mighty swing to impale her on it, and as she screamed though her gag and her legs buckled underneath her, the chain tightened and took up the slack, raising her into the air a couple of feet.

Sarah wanted to yell or even scream herself. She wanted to help the poor woman who was writhing and twitching on the hook, whose look of fear had been replaced by one of disbelief and horror.

Then it hit Sarah. This was just like the photograph. And then she saw a third man.

_Oh, God, no, please_, Sarah thought. _Don't do it! I'll do whatever you want! Just take the gag off! Please!_

The third man was wearing a clear Plexiglas mask covering his face and head, heavy duty gloves, and a rubber one-piece coverall and rubber boots. He stood underneath the woman on the hook, planting his feet widely apart to brace himself, and started up his chainsaw.


	8. The Ordeal

Chapter 8: The Ordeal

Sarah wasn't sure if the metallic whine in her head was real or just a ghost of the terrible growling grind from that monster's chain saw as it revved and died away again and again. If it were at all possible to find a positive side to the whole situation, it was that the relentless and all-pervading sound of the machinery served to almost drown out the screams and cries of the poor, helpless victims and the sobbing whimpers of those waiting in line for their turn.

As her head lolled on her neck and her eyelids fluttered spasmodically, Sarah couldn't help but replay the scene. She had tried to look away at first but someone stood behind her and held her head up in the direction of the carnage. After a few minutes, Sarah found she could no longer keep her eyes closed and watched through a sheen of glistening tears as first one then another captive was taken from the line and mutilated in an almost clinical fashion.

After about an hour, Sarah's mind began to drift. She knew this was part of her brain's self-defense mechanism, and she gradually detached the essence of herself from the Sarah sitting in the chair, becoming aloof and apart from what was happening and looking almost idly around herself as the tears dried on her face and she stared out dully, no longer comprehending on a conscious level that the macabre process around her had anything to do with real, living people.

Mr. European Bad Guy must have noticed the change in her demeanor, and he raised a hand and snapped his fingers once. The chain saw stopped abruptly, leaving the air still throbbing with the pain already experienced and the promise of pain yet to come.

He gestured to another meaty muscleman, who approached the chair and delivered a few sharp blows to Sarah's head and face. She could feel cuts opening up in her skin and, as though this were a classroom exercise, mentally catalogued the types of gloves the man could be wearing to cause this type of damage so easily.

When Sarah showed no sign of reacting to the harsh treatment, the bossman gestured once again.

"Up," he stated sharply.

Sarah felt rough hands grasping her upper arms and holding her in place as the strapping was loosened from her wrists and ankles. When the buckles had clattered away, she was hoisted to her feet and half dragged, half carried to a sawhorse contraption, where they draped her face-first over the top and once again strapped her down, this time with restraints that ran just above her knees and another over her back at armpit level on the front. Then her wrists were jerked to the sides where they were individually captured in padded shackles fixed to the angled legs of the sawhorse.

In this position, Sarah was unable to raise her head properly. She could see the fine Italian hand-crafted leather shoes of her captor and thought irreverently that he was going to be pissed when he discovered the millimeter-long blood stain on the toe of the left one. Sarah might have been tempted to spit on them if she wasn't still wearing the gag. And if she wasn't such a well-trained CIA agent.

When the feet finally stopped moving and the toes turned towards Sarah's head, she waited for the usual long-winded explanation saying why this man's organization was misunderstood, how they aimed to execute their carefully thought-out plans, how many people would suffer, blah, blah, blah. Chuck would probably be able to outline the stock speech better than Sarah. After all, movie plots and comic books were based on something, and the hours that Sarah had spent in a CIA classroom studying the psychology involved – be it the traditional Messiah complex or something more modern, like anarchists who thought blowing things up could lead to social harmony – had prepared her for just such a scenario.

Unfortunately, none of Sarah's instructors had covered this particular eventuality. She closed her eyelids tightly and felt real fear for the first time in this mission as the man simply repeated, "We will not stop until we get what we want."

When the first blows fell, Sarah wondered what it was they were using. It couldn't be a pillow; it was a bit too solid for that. Whoever was administering the beating, he was putting a lot of power behind each stroke and methodically covering first the backs of Sarah's legs, then her buttocks, then traveling over to the front and hitting her back and shoulders before reversing directions and progressing back to her ankles. This didn't seem so bad.

Every time he made his way back around to her ankles again, the man would stop for a moment while the boss repeated, "We will not stop until we get what we want."

So it was some kind of Pavlovian technique. Instructions or suggestions followed by reinforcement, either positive or negative, and repeated until the subject – in this case, Sarah Walker, CIA field agent – had absorbed the directive on a subconscious level. Shouldn't be too hard to resist. Sarah had had more vigorous pillow fights in motel rooms while she and her father traveled around to do a bit of drift grifting when it got too hot to stay in one place and they had to take time to switch identities before they could settle down somewhere new.

After the first hour, though, Sarah was changing her mind about the pillow thing. She had decided it was some kind of specialized rubber implement, maybe filled with a semi-solid gel, probably with little nubs covering the surface. Sarah remembered seeing a teething ring in a store once, one that you could put in the fridge and cool down before giving to a baby to gnaw on. It was probably something like that.

Anyway, that would explain why Sarah was only now beginning to feel the effects. At first, she hadn't felt anything at all but figured that the damage to blood vessels, muscles and skin had probably started from the first blow. Capillaries would have burst first sending their blood to the surface and causing widespread bruising. Next, the muscles would lose their cohesiveness as connective tissue broke down and added their cells to overloaded internal blood vessels. Just like tenderizing meat.

A slight tingling all over Sarah's body, the front as well as the back – which was receiving its own damage from the surface of the sawhorse each time a new blow fell – turned into minute twitches as her muscles responded to the punishment. Then the prickling started as Sarah's body furiously tried to begin the healing process each time her torturer finished in a particular area and carried on to another spot. Finally, her whole body was aflame from the disruption to her circulatory system and the overload to her lymphatic system as it made efforts to clear the debris of damaged cells from her body.

And each time there was a pause, he would say it again: "We will not stop until we get what we want."

Just when Sarah was anticipating the pause-and-repeat routine by echoing the words in her head, the beating stopped. In the strange way that the human mind works, Sarah counted out the beats that should have elapsed between the cessation of one cycle and the beginning of the next and was bewildered when there was no continuation.

After a moment, Sarah felt rather than saw that the straps were being unfastened, and when she was once again hauled to her feet, she gasped in her throat at the pain coursing through her entire body. When she tried to find purchase with her feet on the cement floor, the flexion of her ankles caused the muscles in her hamstrings to elongate, sending a shock of agony up her legs and all the way through her back and into her neck.

When the two men holding her saw that she wouldn't be able to stand if they let go of her and would probably just collapse in a heap to the floor, they dragged her once more to the bolted-down chair and placed her back into it, being surprisingly gentle about the whole process and finally securing her arms and legs again as before.

Through eardrums throbbing with the blood pounding in her head, Sarah heard faint indications of people leaving the area through the metal doorway, and when the lights were suddenly extinguished, she began to panic. Had they left her here to die? They said they wanted to send a message. How could she deliver the message if she were dead, alone in this warehouse? Alone, that is, except for those who had been slaughtered and still hung nearby, their desecrated bodies forming a picture in Sarah's mind that was as clear as though all the lights in the warehouse were still burning brightly.

* * *

"I still think it's risky, Major," the general observed, tilting her head slightly to the side to glance at Director Graham before turning back to the camera in front of her. "If you're captured and detained as well, it will just make it that much harder to infiltrate at a later date and obtain the information we need to figure out just what is going on here."

Casey shifted his feet a bit and lowered his eyes to the floor as he tried not to show the tension he was feeling via his facial expression. Instead, he directed the energy to the hands that were clasped tightly behind his back and waited a moment to ensure his vocal cords were relaxed and he could sound as well as look composed while continuing with his plea to his superiors.

When he raised his head, he was once again in control as he coolly replied, "General, since they have Walker, they probably already know who I am, so I won't be compromising any cover. And I'm sure the CIA would appreciate having such a valuable and, if I may say, talented agent back on their roster. If Agent Walker is to be of any future use to the agencies, may I suggest that getting her out of there sooner rather than later may be the most judicious approach? And if I go in alone, I should be able to gather some visual information that might be useful for your analysts going forward."

Casey stopped speaking abruptly and drew a sharp breath in through his nostrils. All he could do now was wait for the verdict, and he looked on with a passive expression as the general and the director closed the audio link to his apartment and discussed the matter between them, their eyes occasionally darting over in his direction before focusing again on one another.

At one point, it looked like their debate about the matter was becoming a bit heated, but Casey stood his ground and gazed at the screen as though all he had asked for was an extended leave or dispensation for an unforeseen expense. His hands, however, still clenched behind his back, were becoming a bit numb from the grip they had on one another as the tension he was holding there started climbing up his forearms.

_How long are they going to take to decide?_ he thought angrily. Sarah could already be dead. Even if she were only maimed, it could still be too late by the time Casey was allowed to go after her. Wasn't she an important enough agency asset that her survival would be factored into the assessment of a mission plan? And, damn it, she was his partner! These people should know what that meant!

Casey paused abruptly when his thoughts went in this direction. He surprised even himself at the emotion it had released. He double-checked to make sure that his concern for Walker was only the normal concern that any officer would have for his or her partner and was a bit relieved to discover that his feelings were confined to a professional relationship only. But, Casey had to admit to himself, this particular partner, even after such a short association, seemed to call up more than the usual amount of protectiveness that Casey was willing to offer on an assignment, and he filed the thought away for later inspection, turning his attention back to the monitor as the sound link was re-established.

"Major, we have decided that you should go in for Agent Walker, alone, as you have proposed, and get as much intel as you can while you're there."

Casey, without changing his expression, simply answered, "Yes, ma'am," but he could feel the tension in his arms and hands rapidly dissipating. He unclasped his hands and flexed his fingers a bit before re-clasping them more lightly this time.

The general continued.

"We've already ordered the resources that you outlined for this rescue op, Major, and they should be in place in no more than four hours. I hope that will not be too long under the circumstances."

"No, ma'am, that should be sufficient," Casey replied, another part of his brain already ticking ahead in his plans.

"And, Major," the general said, looking at him with real concern in her eyes this time.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Good luck."

* * *

Sarah wasn't sure anymore whether she was awake or asleep, lucid or hallucinating. One moment she felt that every sense was attuned at its highest level, that she had strength in her limbs and her brain was functioning like some kind of computer. Then a tiny part of her brain that apparently was still occasionally able to differentiate reality from fantasy would recognize that, as much as she might want it, the Sarah in the chair was not going to be able, with a mighty roar, to burst her bonds and release herself. Nor was she going to be able to miraculously heal the others and vanquish the bad guys single-handedly.

She did think during a couple of minutes of clear-headedness that one of the rats that she could hear milling about a few feet away must have been pretty damn big, until she remembered that it was probably not a good idea to think about the rats and what they were doing right now. Another good-news item that seemed horribly selfish: The warehouse rats had more than enough to keep them busy and were leaving Sarah alone; otherwise, there would have been no way for her to avoid them.

There was the giant rat again. Sarah could hear it off to her left. He was coming nearer and nearer. Pretty soon, he was going to find the corpse that was suspended right in front of Sarah. In her mind, she opened her eyes and lifted her head. Odd, somebody had turned the lights in the warehouse back on so she could clearly see the desecrated body close in front of her. In her delirium, she gasped and began to cry, calling out, "No, no, not him, not him!" over and over again. Even as the minuscule part of Sarah's consciousness that still held on to her sanity told her that this was all a false image, a waking nightmare, the remainder of her brain replayed the grisly tableau as plain as day.

It was Chuck suspended in front of her, and she hadn't been able to prevent it, hadn't been able to protect him. And the giant King of the Rats was standing between them now. Sarah's brain sobbed silently as she lost sight of Chuck behind the black bulk of the menacing rodent.

Suddenly, Sarah became aware that the giant rat was saying her name. "Sarah! Walker!" it repeated in a low whisper as it unfastened her restraints. When it extended its clawed paws around behind her head to unbuckle the gag, Sarah recoiled, but as her eyes cleared a bit, the rat's black claws turned into black-gloved fingers, its pointed snout and hairy whiskers into Casey's face, his eyes just visible over the edge of the black mask that was pulled up over his nose.

"Walker!" he repeated in a hiss as he gently pulled the gag from Sarah's face. He had to actually insert a finger between her teeth and pry her jaws open to extract the mouthpiece, and he winced under his mask as her eyes unfocused again and her head lolled on her neck when he stopped supporting it.

Casey took a moment to slip his infrared goggles back into place and ensure that the special camera he had been using to take pictures of the warehouse in the dark was securely stowed in a pocket underneath his bulletproof vest before hoisting Sarah's limp body up and over one shoulder. It was going to be tricky, but the only way out was the way he had come in. The good news was that if the bad guys meant to capture him as well, they probably would have done so by now.

There was a certain factor Casey had considered that he hadn't mentioned to General Beckman or Director Graham when he had outlined his plan to them. What if Sarah's rescue was part of the plans of this organization? Casey's hypothesis was proven correct when he found an access point that wasn't wired and no alarms were set off as he slipped through in the dark. It had been almost too easy. He was glad under the circumstances that this gamble had paid off, but his thoughts now led him into even more sinister conjecture: If Sarah was meant to go free, then what was her role supposed to be going forward?

Whatever it was these people wanted, apparently it was neither CIA Agent Sarah Walker nor NSA Agent Major John Casey.

* * *

Sarah.

Casey couldn't really tell with her slung over his shoulder like this whether to not she was still breathing, so he would have to go as quickly as he could to get her to safety and ascertain her status. He was glad in one sense that she was now unconscious because it meant that she was either dealing with whatever torture had been meted out or blissfully unaware at the moment of what had happened to her. He was hoping for the blissfully unaware.

Casey was more than familiar with the state his partner was probably in right now. After all, he had gone through it often enough. Walker was still young and comparatively inexperienced, and Casey also hoped that her youth and natural resilience would assist in her recovery. That and the support of a good partner, a thought that caused Casey to turn his concentration fully to getting them both out of there in one piece so he could get down to the business of helping his partner recover. Then they could work on getting these bastards that had done this to her, whatever it was they had done.

Casey found that the anger, if a bit stronger than his usual reaction concerning a partner, helped to inject a good dose of adrenaline into his system. As he scaled a ladder to the heights of the building, he suddenly got an absurd picture of King Kong and Fay Wray in his mind before quickly banishing it and pulling himself and his burden up to a catwalk high over the warehouse floor. So far so good.

He quietly made his way to one of the air vents on the side of the building and pulled the grille out from the hole where he had propped it after he had gained access earlier. After he pushed Sarah's still-limp body into the vent opening and crawled in backwards himself, he gingerly replaced the grille – if by some chance the bad guys did want them to stick around and somebody looked this way, it might buy the agents more time if the scene looked undisturbed – and he shimmied underneath Sarah in the cramped space so she was draped over his back again and held in place with the secure grip of one hand.

Casey inched his way through the ductwork up to the roof intake/outlet and repeated the process in reverse order, first removing the disabled fan and grille and replacing them when they were both on the roof. Picking Sarah up again, he scaled down a metal ladder on the outside of the warehouse and finally touched a foot to the ground, letting out a sigh of partial relief.

_Hold on, Sarah, we're almost there,_ he thought as he looked around in all directions before turning and jogging down the alleyway.


	9. The Hideout

Chapter 9: The Hideout

Casey quickly carried Sarah's limp body into the alley and around the corner out of sight of the harbor. He hoisted her higher up over one shoulder in the fireman's carry so he could reach into his pocket for the key to the massive metal door in front of him. Unlocking the door and swinging it open, he spun smoothly, placing himself and Sarah inside the building, then pulled the door shut as quietly as the rusty hinges and the automatic lock would allow.

The windowless room inside was in darkness, and as Casey groped along the left-hand wall to find the light switch, Sarah began to stir, groaning softly at first and then shouting out deliriously, "No, no!"

Casey hurried over to the hospital bed near the opposite wall and gently laid Sarah's now-writhing body onto the mattress. He tore off his helmet and mask, bulletproof vest and utility belt and threw them to the floor before sitting down on the side of her bed and holding her shoulders firmly until whatever demons that still tormented her were through.

When she had stopped moving, she suddenly turned her sightless gaze to his face, asking, "Chuck, is that you?" before she began to cry, great wracking sobs heaving her body.

Casey pulled her into a comforting embrace and she clung to his neck, babbling incoherently, first about Chuck, then about never telling. She started to thrash around again, flailing out at his face and at imaginary enemies only she could see as Casey managed to get his arm behind her back and the other under her knees and pulled her onto his lap so he could hold her to his body.

The human contact seemed to help and Sarah calmed down, now merely crying softly, gulping for air occasionally and sniffling as a rope of mucous ran out of her nose. Casey reached over to a box of tissues on the night stand beside the bed and, pushing her chin up with his pinky finger, cleaned her nose and threw the tissue onto the floor.

Sarah's stare fixed on Casey's face. She had an other-worldly, almost angelic look in her eyes now as he tried to brush the wet, tangled strands of hair from her brow and mouth.

All of a sudden, she yelled, "Chuck!" and kissed Casey with a ferocity that he never would have expected. He had to struggle with her to break the contact and he tasted a bit of his own blood with the tip of his tongue when Sarah had finally gone limp again and collapsed back into his embrace.

He began rocking her and crooning softly, his chin on top of her head as she nuzzled into the dark hair of his chest that was curling over the top edge of his tee shirt. Twitching occasionally, Sarah pawed feebly at Casey's biceps in a weak hitting motion. The movement stopped as her body was gripped by a violent trembling, and Casey held her tighter on his lap, afraid she might slip off.

After about ten minutes, he could tell by her calming breathing that she was coming back into herself. Still rocking, he inquired, "Sarah?"

"Casey?" she whispered, barely audible through dry throat and cracked lips.

Casey stood, once again lifting her into the air. He turned and laid her down, placing one hand under her head to ease it onto the pillow. Bent over, he unhooked her fingers from his shirt front and whipped his face around to look at hers when she cried out at the pressure on her fingers and hands.

"Shhh, shhh," he directed, smoothing the hair from her forehead and gently kissing her brow. "You're safe now, Sarah. No one can get you here. I'll look after you."

He turned away to a cart up against the wall that held some medical supplies and implements. He ripped open a foil pack marked "Alcohol Swab" and rubbed the small gauze square against the inside of Sarah's lower arm as she watched passively. Selecting a package that contained a syringe set and a small brown bottle of sedative, Casey measured an appropriate dose into the syringe and carefully pushed out the air bubble. He then turned back to Sarah.

Taking her elbow in his free hand, he located a prominent vein and slid the needle in, depressing the plunger at a slow and steady rate. When he drew the needle out again, a small drop of bright blood followed it, and Sarah's eyes widened at the sight.

Luckily, the sedative was fast-acting, and Sarah's body went limp as her eyes rolled up into her head and back down again. She blinked rapidly a few times and then lowered the lids, her face relaxing into a peaceful expression as the sedative finally took hold.

Casey tidied up the medical tray, stooping to pick up the used tissue and paper wrappings that had fallen to the floor and disposing of them and the other used items in an orange biohazard drum. Picking up his discarded gear from the floor, he deposited it on a cot near the wall on the other side of the room to be dealt with later.

He then turned back to his charge and watched for a couple of minutes as her chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm. Sarah's whole body jerked once as she relaxed further, and then she was finally in a deep, healing sleep where nothing and nobody could get to her, not even her nightmares.

* * *

Casey used the time well while Sarah rested in her drug-assisted slumber. He carefully removed the torn, grimy coveralls, cutting them off and sliding them out from under her so as not to move her around too much. He frowned angrily when he saw the purpling bruises all over her body and was especially careful as he bathed her, smoothing warm, soapy water and then clear water over her skin with a soft sponge. Selecting the fluffiest of the available towels, Casey dried her off, lightly blotting instead of rubbing.

Holding each of her hands in his two in turn, Casey tenderly checked to see if he could feel any major damage. It was hard to tell without an X-ray, but he didn't have any imaging equipment in the room. All the bones seemed to line up, at least, so he slipped hand/wrist splints on and strapped them with cotton gauze to hold them in place.

He then put a thin cotton hospital robe on her, picking up her arms one at a time, trying not to jar her hands as he slipped the sleeves over them, finally tying the trailing pieces of fabric at the top behind her neck. He decided he couldn't do anything about cleaning her hair right then, but he tried to run a comb through it anyway. There were too many mats and snags and bits of clotted blood in it to do a really decent job, and he finally gave up, satisfied at the moment that it was out of her face.

The usually smooth, clear skin of Sarah's face was marred by several cuts, but the edges of the lacerations were neither too ragged nor too far apart so Casey figured they would mostly just heal up on their own without scarring. He used dampened cotton swabs to gently dab dried blood from the skin surface and, as best he could, flushed the wounds out with sterilized water. The deepest cut just needed a couple of butterfly bandages to draw the skin closer together. Casey was relieved it wasn't any worse. His suturing skills were a little rusty.

Then came the job of changing the sheets. This was going to be tricky. He pulled the edges of the sheet out from under the mattress all the way around and bunched it up close to her body on one side preparatory to removing it. He then draped the clean sheet over the exposed edge of the mattress, bunching the edge up to abut the old sheet. Thinking that he could have used at least four more hands, Casey slowly rolled Sarah's hips in the direction of the bunched sheets with one hand, pulling the old one out from under her when it was free. He then rolled her in the other direction, pushing the new sheet as far as he could reach and then letting her roll back over it. Going around to the other side of the bed and tugging the accordioned portion towards himself, he smoothed the new sheet out as best he could under her, tucking the sides and top and bottom in with neat hospital corners.

Now she needed an absorbent pad. She might not be able to get up to use the toilet for a while. Repeating the rolling motion, Casey eased the plastic-lined cotton rectangle under her and finally Sarah was ready to sleep in peace.

No, one more thing. Casey trundled an IV stand with a bag of saline solution hanging from it over to the side of the bed. He swabbed again, at the other arm this time, inserted the small needle, taped the butterfly tabs to the skin, and adjusted the drip cock. He wrapped the whole thing loosely in cotton gauze to prevent her from accidentally pulling it out.

Finally covering her with another sheet and a blanket and tucking them in at the bottom and sides, Casey cleaned up the washing things and dirty sheets and came to sit beside the bed to watch her sleep, the occasional tic jumping in her cheek.

* * *

Casey could only tell how much time had elapsed by looking at his watch. He established a routine of checking on Sarah, first pulling up her eyelids to make sure she still had pupil reaction. He adjusted her IV and changed the bag when it was getting low. When she stirred a little too much, he gave her ever-decreasing doses of the sedative injected through her IV tube. He changed her position regularly and added massages so she wouldn't get bed sores, warming the lotion by rubbing it between his hands and covering her legs, hips, back and shoulders in broad strokes, and he bathed her and changed her robe, sheets and absorbent pad as needed.

The rest of the time he either sat in a chair by the bed watching her, made notes in a log book at a desk, or slept lightly on the camp bed on the other side of the room.

There was a fridge in the makeshift hospital but Casey didn't want to risk the smells of cooking being detected by anyone outside so he just made sandwiches and ate tins of cold beans, which reminded him of his tours of duty in the Middle East. At least here he got to eat them from a plate.

After almost 72 hours, Sarah's eyes opened. They were clear, and Casey could tell from the way she moved her head and looked around that she was aware of her surroundings.

"Hi," he said, moving his chair close enough to the bed so that he could rest his elbows on the edge, bringing his smiling face close to hers.

"Hi," she answered back, a look of confusion clouding her eyes. "Was I out long?" she croaked.

"Here, let me get you a drink," Casey offered, getting up to pour water from a carafe into a glass by the bedside and popping in a bendy straw.

He held the straw to her lips and let her take a few small sips. "Slowly, baby girl, slowly," he admonished, as she started to suck greedily, and he pulled the straw and glass back again.

"'Baby girl,' huh?" she asked, amused. "So I guess that means there's no audio or video in here?"

"No audio or video," echoed Casey, turning away to place the water glass back on the bedside table.

"And I guess that means it was bad," she added, frowning and trying to remember.

Casey sat down again and smoothed Sarah's hair back from her temple. "Yes, it was bad," he replied, a sorrowful look of compassion on his face.

"What about the others?" inquired Sarah. "I don't remember what happened." She tried to raise herself up on her elbows but Casey stood and pushed her back down gently but firmly.

He looked into her eyes and slowly shook his head no. Sarah's chin began to tremble and her eyes filled with tears. "But there were at least twenty. Not all of them?"

"I'm afraid so, baby girl," said Casey in a whisper. "I know it's hard, but you try to get some more rest. Let me know if you have to pee and we'll see if you can get up to go to the toilet. Other than that, your job is to stay quiet."

He pulled a tissue out of the box and gently wiped away the tears squeezing out from under her tightly closed lids.

After Sarah had cried herself to sleep, Casey went over to the desk and turned on the lamp. He slid a notebook out of the drawer and logged the time of Sarah's awakening and that she had had some water to drink to the end of a list of previous entries about her treatment and progress. Then he crawled onto his cot, shifting around restlessly as he tried to find a comfortable position in which to sleep himself.

* * *

Casey awoke some time later to the sound of Sarah stirring fitfully in her bed and moaning. He got up and hurried over to her side, quickly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Placing the back of his hand on her forehead and feeling that it was cool, he said softly, "Sarah, Sarah, wake up."

She stopped moving and blinked her eyes open, finally focusing on his face as he stood over her.

Sarah motioned with her splinted arm towards the side table. "Water," she said feebly.

After Casey had helped her to drink, he sat down in the chair beside the bed. "Where are we?" asked Sarah, her brows furrowed.

"We're near the warehouse. It's a secure location, but we can't risk staying here much longer," Casey explained. "You know the layout of the area. Not too far from the warehouses it's entirely exposed, and it would have taken too long to get you farther away. We had to hide rather quickly, so I set this room up and then came in to get you."

"You came in all by yourself?" asked Sarah, incredulous.

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" replied Casey, grinning. "We thought it would be best to get you out but not to rock the boat. We need these guys to be going about their business. Remember, there's still the matter of the disk."

Sarah closed her eyes for a moment as she remembered. They had taken it from her, of course, when she had been kidnapped.

Sarah opened her eyes suddenly and then opened them wider, looking into the middle distance.

"Uh, John," she said, hesitantly.

"What?"

"I think I have to pee. Now."

"Okay, here we go. Taking a little ride."

Casey ran over to the other side of the bed and scooped her up into his arms, careful not to tangle himself in the IV tubing. Once Sarah had hooked her elbows tightly around his neck, he removed the hand that was supporting her back so he could grab the IV stand. He turned and made a beeline as fast as he could to the toilet in the far corner. Depositing Sarah on the seat and letting go of the IV stand, he jogged back towards the bed and wheeled a folding hospital bed screen in front of Sarah to give her some privacy.

"The least you could do is whistle, you know," came Sarah's wry voice from behind the curtain as she began to empty her bladder.

Casey, more than a little embarrassed, turned away, went over to his desk and, sitting down, began whistling _The Old Gray Mare_.

"Is that the best you could come up with?" she asked, as she flushed the toilet. "Okay, I'm ready."

Casey returned to the corner and moved the screen out of the way. Sarah, still sitting down, was trying to finger-comb her tangled hair with the fingertips that were sticking out past the edges of the splints. "I don't suppose there's a mirror in here, is there?" she asked, as Casey once again picked her up and carried her back to the bed.

He laid her down, covered her up and went to the bottom of the bed. Cranking it into a sitting position, he replied, "I'll check."

He came back to the head of the bed and made sure the pillows were supporting her back and head as she wilted from the exertion. "Whew, I never knew taking a pee could be so exhausting," she observed.

"Well," said Casey, "I don't think I'll let you sit up too long, but you're going to have to build up your strength so we can get out of here."

Rolling an adjustable hospital bed table over so the wheeled apparatus slid under the bed and the upper table part was accessible for Sarah, Casey placed his hand on the lid of the storage section and hesitated.

"Are you sure you want to see this, Walker? Might be a bit of a shock."

At first, Sarah thought he was joking, taking a jab at her the way they usually sparred with each other, but when she looked up into his face, she could see his serious look of concern and she, too, hesitated before answering.

"Let's get it over with," she said decisively.

Casey lifted the little panel, bringing the mirror into Sarah's view. She looked at her face and almost couldn't believe what she saw. Both eyeballs were red with blood. Her nose had a large diagonal laceration over the bridge and up into her left eyebrow. There were two small butterfly bandages holding the edges of the wound together on her forehead where the cut had penetrated the deepest. Most of her face was discolored by bruising and her neck had a ring of bruises around it as though she had been strangled. There were other small wounds as well but they looked like they had already started to heal somewhat.

Sarah ducked her head a bit so she could see the state of her hair. After a moment, she turned to look at Casey. All she said was, "Scissors."

He nodded mutely and tugged on a drawer in the bedside table, finding a pair of scissors in the second one down. He pulled them out and snipped the air experimentally before laying them down on the chair.

Draping Sarah's shoulders with a towel to catch the cut hair, he began to hack off large hanks of her once-beautiful blonde locks, dropping it by handfuls into a small trash bucket. Sarah stared ahead of herself grimly and let him get on with his work.

When he had cut most of it off with the scissors, he found a razor in the drawer and some shaving gel. Holding the razor up in front of himself and raising his eyebrows, he waited for Sarah's nodded assent before covering her scalp with gel and shaving off the stubble.

With a wet washcloth and towel he finished the job and, removing the towel from her shoulders and brushing away stray pieces of hair from the surface of the bed, he surveyed his handiwork.

"Thanks, Casey," Sarah said quietly, looking forlornly into the mirror.

"That's okay, baldy," Casey replied, tenderly patting her on the shoulder.


	10. The Escape

Chapter 10: The Escape

Sarah woke up. "Ow!" she exclaimed from her hospital bed in the warehouse.

Casey, sitting at the desk and making notes, looked up and over his shoulder at her. "What?"

"Everything hurts," was Sarah's pouting assessment. She fidgeted around in the bed, raising her arms to her face.

Casey ran over to her side and pulled her hands down and away. "The sedatives must have finally worn off completely. No more drugs for you, young lady."

He smiled down at her. She grimaced and then grimaced again at the pain the movement had caused her.

"Be still and try not to scratch at anything," Casey advised. "Here's something we can do now."

He stopped the IV drip and unwrapped the gauze from her arm. Carefully removing the adhesive tape and sliding the small needle out of her flesh, he moved the metal stand to one side and threw the disposables into the plastic drum. He then went to the medical supply table and, finding a box of Band-Aids, selected one and returned, applying it to the small puncture wound near the crook of Sarah's arm.

"When do I get rid of these?" asked Sarah, raising her splinted arms into the air again.

"Not until after we're out of here and you get checked out. There might be small breaks that I can't feel and I don't want you to cause any further damage without knowing it. And be careful, or I'll tie your arms down," Casey added, narrowly avoiding a smack on the nose as he ducked his face out of the way.

"Kinky," Sarah replied, wincing in pain again as she tried to smile at her own joke.

* * *

"Casey!" wailed Sarah from behind the privacy screen. "This is impossible!"

"Shhh! Keep your voice down!"

Casey delivered this admonition in an exaggerated stage whisper as he hurried to the corner where the toilet was situated and cautiously peeked around the screen. Sarah sat, her splinted arms held out in front of her in a beseeching manner. In her left hand, she clutched a wad of toilet paper.

"Oh, I see," Casey said, clearing his throat and raising a hand to his lips to cover a quick smile. "How about if we take them off so you can get washed up, then they go on again for the rest of the time? That should be all right, I think."

"Thanks," Sarah said forlornly. As Casey began to unfasten one of the braces, Sarah looked up at him. "Thanks for all of this, Casey. Spy school never mentioned anything about having to be a nursemaid. This must be terrible for you."

"Just part of the job, Walker," Casey replied gruffly, carefully avoiding Sarah's pathetic gaze.

* * *

After three more days had gone by, even Casey was beginning to feel a little antsy. Sarah wasn't helping the situation any.

"What do you think they're doing now?" she asked for the tenth time that day, nervously picking at the bedclothes and staring at Casey with a furrowed brow.

"I think," he replied with an amused quirk to one side of his mouth, "they're not sitting around wondering what we're up to, for one thing, and for another, whatever it is they're doing, we won't be able to assess the status of the mission until we're out of here. So try to relax and we'll leave as soon as possible."

Sarah finally subsided after her partner's remarks, but he was pretty sure he could make out, coming from the direction of the bed, vague sounds of impatient huffing and puffing with a little grumbling thrown in for good measure.

* * *

By the next day, Sarah's condition had improved markedly and, just after they had eaten their breakfast, Casey set about preparing for their departure. First, he went to one of the darker corners of the warehouse and wheeled a coffin-sized crate on a hand truck over near Sarah's bed. From inside, he pulled a sports equipment bag that contained a skin-hugging body suit for Sarah and a brown courier uniform, complete with cap and wireless tablet, for himself. The crate was lined with medium-density padding and at the level where Sarah's waist would rest was fixed a cylinder of compressed air with tube and nose fittings attached.

After the two agents had changed into their new clothes, Casey carefully checked the entire room one last time to make sure they weren't leaving anything behind that would reveal their identities. He tucked the logbook and a couple of other small items between the lining and the wood of the crate, then gave Sarah a hand to step into her temporary chariot.

As Casey slipped the elastic that would hold the oxygen tube's nose piece in place around the back of her head, he commented, "If all goes well, you won't be in here for more than a half hour. Full out, this bottle holds enough air for 20 minutes. I'll turn the regulator to a third, which should give us a maximum of an hour. Since you won't be moving, you should be okay with less, and the box isn't airtight. So relax and that will cut down on your oxygen consumption as well."

"What if we're intercepted?" Sarah asked, a little afraid of what Casey's answer might be.

"Well, I can see two scenarios," he replied seriously. "Either they open the box right away, in which case you'll be able to breathe, or they don't, in which case, eventually, you won't."

"Oh," Sarah responded. "I don't suppose you'd care to repeat that with a bit of sugar coating, would you?"

Casey's stern expression softened a bit when he saw the worry in Sarah's eyes. "It's okay, Walker, you'll be fine. I've got your back, remember?"

Sarah's attempt at a smile wasn't a complete success but it did serve to buck up her spirits a bit and steel her resolve.

"I remember," she said, "and thanks again, Casey, for everything."

"Stop, I might cry," he quipped, and Sarah's smile came out full force as she briefly laughed at her partner's ability to bolster her confidence using his particular brand of sarcasm in this dangerous and crucial leg of the mission.

"Now," he continued, all business again, "I set up for a vehicle to meet us at a specific rendezvous point every day at the same time. We now have 18 minutes to get there before it leaves and we have to wait another day, so lie down and breathe."

As Sarah reclined into the padding and arranged her arms, once more in their splints, as comfortably as possible beside her, she tried not to think of the darkness of that other warehouse while Casey fastened the crate's lid over her.

* * *

Sarah hadn't known what her reaction would be when the crate's lid dropped, separating her from the weak light of the warehouse. At the Academy, they had practiced being shut up inside various confined spaces, sometimes even with a limited air supply, to learn how to survive should something similar ever occur during a mission. But this was no classroom exercise, and Sarah wondered if what she had just been through at the hands of those terrifyingly detached monsters would cause her to panic in any way.

Sarah needn't have worried. As she listened to Casey tightening the screws in place, her well-trained mind automatically took over, evening out and slowing her breathing until she could allow her muscles to relax one by one so that, by the time the head end of the crate jerked slightly as Casey hefted the trolley up and onto its wheels, Sarah was smiling slightly into her oxygen apparatus and drifting off, her mind wandering to her imaginary safe place, the one she had constructed in class while locked in a dark closet for twelve hours – or that really uncomfortable exercise where they had each been bound, gagged, stuffed into a hockey equipment bag, and driven around in the trunk of a car on some of Washington, D.C.'s, bumpiest roads for what seemed like forever.

Letting herself float, Sarah pictured a leafy green park, the bright afternoon sunlight diffused by warm, slightly hazy air. A few small children ran around a sandbox playing a boisterous game of tag while others swung from monkey bars in a joyful test of juvenile endurance.

Sarah, now inserted into the idyllic scene as her four-year-old self, shot up into the air on a swing, pumping her little legs as she flew backwards and forwards. Plummeting towards the earth, she smiled as she approached the ground at a dizzying speed, knowing that the swing's chains would keep her from hitting the uneven dirt. When the swing began its forward ascent and reached the point where its motion would change direction to once more carry Sarah backwards, down and up, high into the balmy afternoon breeze, she released her grip on the chains and felt her body leave the swing's seat with a jolt.

Momentarily confused, Sarah tensed and blinked in the confines of her living coffin before relaxing again and returning her thoughts to the imaginary playground. This time, she was seated on a teeter-totter, once again as high in the air as the device allowed, except something was different. Instead of four, Sarah was her current age of 26, and when she looked to the opposite end of the teeter-totter, there was Casey, his arms extended straight out in front of himself, hands gripping the handles, his long legs bent fully at the knees, making him look very out of place on the child-sized ride.

Sarah felt more than saw the way he was holding back, making sure the teeter-totter was under his control, his look of concern tinged with sadness telling Sarah more than any words of consolation could have expressed.

Just as she was feeling safe and beginning to allow Casey's solicitous bearing to permeate this strangely real-seeming unreality, Sarah noticed his expression had suddenly changed to one of alarm, and the seat she was sitting on began to fall, dropping like a stone. It should only have been a foot or so to the ground, but it wasn't. Sarah flailed her legs a bit, her feet searching for a solid surface, but it was hopeless. She was still falling with no hope of saving herself.

Then she felt a new sensation. There were arms tightly circling her waist. She was still falling but now it felt like a controlled descent. When Sarah's seat should have struck the playground's loosely packed earth, it instead came to rest there gently, and when she turned around to see whose arms were holding her so gently and yet so securely, she was relieved to discover Chuck smiling into her eyes. She only had a second, however, to push herself more deeply into his embrace before he spoke, saying, "I've got you, Walker. You can get out now. Hurry and get into the van."

Sarah blinked her eyes a couple of times as though coming out of a very deep sleep and focused on Casey's face, his look of concern similar to the one in her waking dream, his hand extended to help her out of the crate. Sarah blinked a couple more times to help clear her head and removed the oxygen tubes from her nostrils before taking Casey's hand and getting out to stand beside the brown van painted with the name of a popular courier firm in gold lettering.

"Ten minutes to spare," Casey said as he pulled the van's side door open.

The driver, who was waiting inside, first helped Casey to lift the crate and hand truck into the van and then helped Sarah inside. He sat her down gently into a jump seat behind the driver's chair and fastened a seat belt around her hips, then tugged on it a bit to make sure she was securely strapped in. Only after he was sure she was in place did he raise his gaze to look shyly at Sarah's face.

"Welcome back, Agent Walker," he whispered as a slight flush spread up his cheeks from his neck.

Casey's abrupt bark from the driver's seat was quiet but firm. "Save the flirting, Phillips, and let's get out of here."

Phillips, whom Sarah pegged at about 20, jumped slightly and flushed a little more redly at Casey's admonition. His look of embarrassed guilt touched Sarah and she placed the ends of her fingers on his forearm, smiling and mouthing _Thanks_ to the younger agent. She was happy to see that her response had gone a long way to restore the young man's confidence when he smiled back quickly then left her to take his place in the passenger seat as Casey started the engine and pulled the truck out of its parking spot to drive away.

* * *

After they pulled into the hospital's delivery bay and the door had rolled back down to conceal the vehicle, Casey was the one who helped Sarah out of the van and into a waiting wheelchair. Phillips quickly took his place behind the wheel of the vehicle and prepared to back it out of the bay once Sarah was safely out of sight and the door to the outside could be opened again. Apparently, whoever was running the operation was going out of their way to ensure Sarah's safety, and just before her chair was commandeered by an orderly to go into the hospital proper, Sarah flashed Phillips one last smile, which for some reason proved to be too much for the novice agent to handle, and he quickly found something very interesting about the backs of his hands as Sarah's wheelchair began to move.

"What's wrong with him?" Sarah asked Casey, who was flanking her left side. "Is it my hair?"

Casey looked down into his partner's upturned face and spared a glance for her peach fuzz scalp as they moved along a corridor in the services section of the basement past doors marked "Laundry" and "Electrical." After a moment, his thoughtful expression became an amused smirk, and he replied, "I'm guessing it's because you're a hero, Walker. The kid would have had some kind of briefing. They probably played it up a bit, though. You'd better milk it while you can before they find out you're a fraud."

Sarah looked at the side of Casey's face that was towards her once he had turned his eyes to look in the direction they were moving. Of course he was pulling her leg and the familiarity of it gave her a warm feeling inside. But a hero? For what? Allowing herself to be taken and tortured? Not doing anything while all those people died horrible deaths?

As though he could read her mind, after Casey had pushed open a door marked "Research" and held it so the orderly could guide Sarah's wheelchair through the opening, he halted her progress momentarily by putting his hand on the arm rest of the chair and whispered in Sarah's ear, "You're a hero, Walker, because you survived."

* * *

Once they were inside, Sarah was pretty sure the room marked "Research" was rarely used for such a purpose. Around the edges was an array of medical testing equipment surrounding two exam tables in the middle separated by the same type of divider that Casey had used in their warehouse hideout. Casey brushed aside the nurse who was directing him towards one of the sectioned-off tables until he was sure that Sarah was in good hands. Only when Sarah's attendant appeared a bit nervous that he might stay while Sarah exchanged her body suit for an open-backed hospital robe did Casey back down and begin to submit to his own post-mission physical.

While two doctors and the two nurses poked and prodded, shone flashlights in eyes and ears, drew blood and attached electrodes to their chests and heads, Casey kept up a steady stream of conversation when he was able to. He spoke in general about some of the things they would have to remember to take care of when they finally returned to the outside world, and Sarah noted with satisfaction that he neatly skirted any specific mention of their mission, either the one concerning the disk or the Intersect.

At one point, it became obvious to Sarah that Casey was beginning to allow himself to relax after a long period on high alert. His voice took on a slightly weary and a more gentle tone, and he suddenly switched from "Walker" to "Sarah," something he had never done in front of other people before. This simple slip on Casey's part brought home to Sarah just how much pressure her fellow agent had been under over the past week or so, and she smiled wistfully to herself as she remembered how attentive and at times tender he had been with her when she had been at her worst.

Seeing Sarah's expression as she listened to Casey's tone of voice and heard his obvious concern for the welfare of her charge, Sarah's nurse shot her a knowing smile and winked her way, and when the nurse's unspoken signal said _Lucky girl_, it took Sarah a moment to figure out what was intended. When it finally clicked into place, Sarah quickly shook her head from side to side while mouthing _No_, but the slight flush that crept up her neck only served to strengthen the nurse's opinion that the two agents were lovers in love, and Sarah finally had to resort to closing her eyes to block out the woman's lascivious smirk.

* * *

Only after the radiologist's report on the X-rays of Sarah's arms and hands had been read by her attending physician was she declared fit to leave the hospital's secret basement infirmary. Casey had insisted on taking Sarah back to his apartment for their debriefing with the general rather than waiting for the appropriate communications equipment to be brought into the hospital, explaining to Sarah that she would feel much better in familiar surroundings and so would be in a frame of mind to continue the mission that much sooner.

"But, Casey, I feel okay now," she said to him, a note of uncertainty in her voice that was all-too-evident to her partner.

"Give it another day, Walker," he replied as he steered their car smoothly along the Los Angeles streets. "There's something you have to take care of first."

Puzzled, Sarah turned her head to look at Casey but he would say no more, and when they finally entered Casey's apartment, she was surprised to see several of what looked like large hat boxes and cube-shaped suitcases on the table in the middle of Casey's living room.

As she stood there trying to guess what was inside them, Casey strode forwards and picked four of the cases up, arranging them under his arms and in his hands before saying, "I had a selection of wigs and make-up sent over. You go upstairs and I'll bring them up. We have to debrief with the general at some point this evening, but I thought you might like to see Chuck before that. I hear he's been asking about you."


	11. The Debriefing

Chapter 11: The Debriefing

Sarah had a sense of déjà vu as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Memories of quickly covering up the evidence of her basement fight with hastily applied makeup before returning to the formal dinner with Prince Willy in the Perogian Embassy flitted through her mind. This time, it was going to take Sarah quite a bit longer to conceal the remaining marks on her face. And her neck, her arms, her legs.

She chose a wig that was the closest to her shaved-off hair and made sure the wig base was firmly secured in place. Putting the wig itself to one side, she opened the make-up cubes and selected a foundation that was a bit thicker and darker than the one she normally used and dipped her fingers into the container, applying it evenly over all of the skin that would not be covered by the clothes she had chosen, which were also more concealing than usual for the agent.

When she was done, just a faint trace of the deeper scar across her nose and brow was visible, and with the brim of a large hat to cast a shadow over the top half of her face, even that evidence of her recent ordeal would disappear.

Some eye make-up and lipstick, wig and hat on, and Sarah, giving herself a final inspection in the brightly lit mirror, felt that her new Sarah disguise was as good as she could make it.

* * *

As she descended the stairs to return to Casey's living room, Sarah reviewed a few possible stories to explain her and Casey's absence over the last little while. Had it really only been eight and a half days? It felt like a lifetime, and Sarah shook her head a bit to clear it of the haunting memories that had begun to swarm into her mind, buzzing low like hundreds of angry wasps suddenly disturbed from their hive.

"Everything okay, Walker?" Casey inquired as Sarah paused for a moment, one hand still on the railing.

"Yes, yes, fine, Casey," she replied. But since the tone of her voice didn't even serve to convince herself, Sarah tried again. Standing up straighter, she looked Casey in the eye and forced a smile long enough so that it relaxed into what would pass for a genuine one before repeating, "Yes, Casey, I'm fine. Where's Chuck?"

"Just across the courtyard," Casey supplied, then added, "which is where we're going right now, so let's get our story straight first."

The two agents debated a couple of Sarah's ideas and settled on the one that, although it was a bit of a stretch, would be a little more difficult for Ellie and Devon and any of the Buy Morons to check out if they decided that was necessary, and by the time Sarah and Casey had agreed on the details, Sarah was once again feeling more like her old self and capable of mixing with civilians on their home turf.

Just before they left the apartment, Casey casually added, almost as though it were an afterthought, "Bartowski's going to want to know what really happened to you. I think it's a good idea if he doesn't find out, at least at this point. It'll be even more difficult to keep him on the sidelines than it already is if he knows just what The Brotherhood is capable of, so don't let him talk you into being alone together. I'll make sure I'm within earshot so I can help you out if you get into trouble."

"Good idea," Sarah responded. "I'm hoping I'll only need a few more hours to get my head together, and it's important that Chuck and his family are kept out of harm's way. I'll have to pull this off somehow, convince Chuck that everything is okay, so I can focus on the mission. We don't have the luxury of any more recovery time with this Brotherhood thing. I want to get back on it as soon as possible."

Casey's reaction was a number eight grunt with a pleased half-grin and, much to Sarah's surprise, this did more to bolster her confidence than some long, drawn-out motivational speech would have. And along with her mounting confidence, she suddenly felt an unexpected pleasant tingle that was beginning somewhere around her solar plexus. Anticipation?

Sarah took a moment to inspect the emotion, and to her surprise, she concluded that it was the anticipation of seeing Chuck again that had caused it. Naturally, she would want to make sure that he was healing all right from his injuries and that the Intersect was still functioning at optimum levels. Yes, that was it.

Sarah smiled to herself now, a secret smile, as Casey unlocked his door and stood aside for her to pass through ahead of him.

* * *

Ellie answered the door before Sarah had finished knocking and began gushing as soon as she saw who was there.

"Sarah, John, thank God you're here. Chuck! Guess who's here? Sarah! And John!"

Sarah chanced a quick sideways look at Casey as Ellie negotiated the wide hat brim to deliver a half hug and a kiss to the female agent's cheek. Since he was looking back at her in the same way, eyes full of foreboding, Sarah knew that Casey had also registered Ellie's slightly hysterical, almost manic, tone. And when Ellie released her to turn to Casey for a welcoming peck on the cheek, Sarah could immediately see what was causing Ellie's distress.

Chuck was sitting on the sofa, game controller in hand as he craned his neck around to see the new arrivals. His legs were extended along the cushions, the broken ankle supported by a couple of extra throw pillows to elevate it. There was a large array of snacks and drinks within easy reach, and the wrappers and other packaging that overflowed a small trash bin positioned nearby evidenced the Intersect's hearty appetite for junk foods of any and all description.

Chuck was supported in a sitting posture by another cushion behind his back and, from his vantage point in the middle of the living room, he was able to easily survey his domain like some petty potentate in a remote and minor kingdom. And it was obvious to Sarah that since Ellie had been conscripted as his personal servant, expected to cater to his every whim, Chuck's sister was well on the way to losing the medical objectivity she normally displayed for her patients.

Sarah stepped gingerly around the end of the sofa, carefully avoiding the pair of crutches that were propped there at an awkward angle, and leaned down to kiss Chuck when he was within reach.

"Hi, honey," he exclaimed brightly after a brief pucker. "Where have you been?"

Sarah straightened up again to standing height so Chuck wouldn't have an opportunity to study her face too closely. Luckily, he probably couldn't make out any details at this distance, since the curtains were drawn and the lights were low, probably to put as little strain as possible on Chuck's injured eye, now unbandaged and peering keenly, along with its twin, at the CIA agent and her overlarge head gear.

"Hello, sweetie," Sarah replied, smiling winsomely. "I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to tell you, but I went to my aunt's funeral in Vermont. You know, Aunt Veronica. I think I mentioned to you that she was sick."

Chuck screwed up his face a bit but, aware that Ellie was listening to the conversation, he made sure that his tone of voice didn't give away his suspicious attitude.

"No, darling, you didn't. Died, you say? That's really very sad." Turning in Casey's direction, Chuck continued. "And what about you, John, where have you been all this time?"

Casey glared impatiently at Chuck as he answered, arms folded over his chest, "I went with Sarah to keep her company. She didn't want to travel alone, what with the _death_ and all."

When Chuck heard the emphasis the tall agent put on the word "death", he took the hint right away and backed down. Sarah quickly stepped into the breach.

"Yes, and he was a _lifesaver_. It was pretty awful, but I'm sure it would have been much worse if John hadn't been there to _help me out_."

Now Chuck's expression changed from one of distrust to relief as he caught the words that Sarah had emphasized and understood the double meaning they implied, and his face softened and his tone became gentle as he said, "Well, then, in that case, thank you, John, and I'm glad you're both back."

Sarah, aware that Ellie's eyes were still on the three of them, supplied, "Yes, Chuck, I'm glad that's over too. There's nothing more stressful, which is why I didn't let you know before we left. I didn't want to worry you while you were still in the hospital."

Ellie moved forwards at this, approval in her voice as she said, "Yes, Sarah, it is good to have you back, but I think Chuck needs to lie down and rest in his room for a while. For someone who's not supposed to have too much stimulation, he sure can play a lot of video games."

Chuck jumped at the opportunity his sister had given him and immediately suggested, "Why don't you help me into my room, Sarah? That way, we can have a few more minutes together."

After two heartbeats, Chuck shot a stern glance at Casey before adding pointedly, "Alone."

But before Chuck could even shift himself on the couch to swing his legs from the cushions to the floor, Casey was by his side and had shoved his hands and arms behind Chuck's shoulders and knees, lifting him easily into the air and turning to head towards the bedroom.

"I'll help," the big man sang out cheerfully, and he trotted along the corridor, making sure that Chuck's injured head and leg didn't hit any walls or door frames on the way as he directed an evil grin towards Chuck's angry glare.

Chuck, for his part, sputtered out, "Casey, Casey, put me –" which ended in a stifled scream of frustration when the patient realized that he wasn't going to be allowed to talk to Sarah alone once they reached his room. And when they did arrive, Casey dumped Chuck onto his bed from just enough of a height to jar the nerd into silence without further aggravating his injuries.

Sarah entered and quickly sat down on the edge of the bed, sparing a moment to glower at her partner for his rough treatment of the Intersect before turning back to Chuck, who looked like he was setting up for a long sulk.

"Chuck," she began, taking his hands in hers, "I'm sorry this is such a short visit, but there have been some new developments in the mission and we don't have time right now for anything longer. Not a moment to spare, in fact. I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing, and I'm glad to find that you're better. As soon as I can, I'll bring you up to date on what's going on, but now is not the time. I hope you'll trust me on this."

Chuck looked down at his and Sarah's hands as she delivered her news, his lower lip jutting out just a tiny bit, but by the time she had finished speaking and he had taken a moment to absorb what she was saying, the face he raised to hers was wearing a sheepish grin and he was chuckling quietly to himself.

"I know you will, Sarah," he said just above a whisper, "and thanks. It's just that I was worried about you when you didn't show up after a few days. You get on with whatever it is you guys have to do and I guess you'll know where to find me when you need me."

Sarah, mindful of Casey's presence nearby, squeezed Chuck's hands before replying, "Of course, Chuck, and don't worry about us. This is the kind of thing we were trained for."

Chuck looked deeply into Sarah's eyes for a moment before saying, "I know, Sarah, but I never trained not to worry, and when you care about someone, it's what you do."

* * *

_Well, that was short and sweet_, Sarah thought as she left the debriefing area of Casey's apartment after being summarily dismissed by the general. _Might as well get ready to go home now_.

Sarah stopped halfway up the stairs on her way to Casey's washroom. _Funny_, she mused, _I've never thought of that hotel room as "home" before_.

* * *

Casey stood patiently waiting for his superior officer's instructions after Sarah was on her way upstairs and out of earshot. He figured he had just been a party to the shortest debriefing on record and he was about to find out why.

They had only spent a few minutes discussing Walker's capture, how she had been spirited away, Casey's rescue and his medical treatment of her and their recent visit to the Intersect. The general was sensitive enough, at least, to let Sarah give a brief and very undetailed description of the torture she had been put through while being held in the warehouse, and it was at this point that Casey's agent's intuition kicked in full force. It wasn't like the general to tiptoe around issues, and it certainly wasn't normal field practice for any agent to walk away with undisclosed information after a debriefing. Especially not one concerning this mission. Something unusual was going on.

Then Walker had been dismissed with a curt, "Thank you, Agent Walker, that's all," as the general continued to look down at the papers spread on the desktop in front of her.

When Sarah swiveled her head around from the screen to Casey and back again to the screen signaling her confusion, the general looked up and repeated, "That's all," adding, "Major, please remain for a moment," before looking back at Sarah and delivering a steady stare as she waited for the agent to leave.

It's so boring always being right.

After Sarah had left, the general pulled out a different file and opened it, shuffled through the contents for a minute or so, then looked up and removed her reading glasses, furrowing her brow as she did so. Casey couldn't tell whether this expression was the result of concern or annoyance. His boss seemed to use the two emotions interchangeably so it was better not to second-guess, and Casey continued to wait, soldier-ready.

"Major," she began, still sounding businesslike and very focused, "what is your assessment of Agent Walker's current condition? I want you to be brutally frank with me. You know how much is riding on this mission and I can't afford – we all can't afford – to have an agent in a weakened mental state at the helm. Just say the word and I will hand the whole thing over to you."

Casey didn't even blink.

"General," he said, straightening his spine as he did so, "in my opinion, Agent Walker is more than capable of re-assuming her duties as coordinator and leader of this mission. Or she will be in a day or so. I had planned to have us work out of my apartment, in familiar surroundings, to give her a chance to complete her adjustment. We can be fully operational again by Thursday."

The general now directed her piercing stare at the man who had spoken so clearly and confidently about his partner before softening her features ever so slightly and replying tersely, "Very good, Major. Dismissed."

* * *

"Casey?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

Casey stopped typing the report he had been working on and turned in his chair, draping an elbow over the back so he could pull himself right around and look more squarely at his partner.

Sarah was perched on the couch, her feet tucked underneath herself, giving the impression she was trying to appear as small as possible. She had wrapped an afghan around her shoulders, and even though the weather was a bit on the warm side, Casey could see that she was shivering slightly.

"If I didn't know you better, Walker, I'd think you're propositioning me," Casey commented, smiling a bit at the end so Sarah would know he was joking, and even though she tried her best to smile back, the corners of her mouth trembled and turned down as she tugged the blanket around herself even more tightly.

"I don't know why I'm being such a baby," Sarah explained. "I just don't want to be alone at my place tonight."

Casey turned back towards the computer before voicing his decision. "No need to apologize, Walker. The couch okay?"

He nodded once to himself when he heard Sarah say, "The couch is fine, Casey, thanks," then picked up typing where he had left off.

After five more minutes, the report was finished and Casey sent it on its way to NSA headquarters in D.C. along with a copy to the CIA at Langley before powering down the unit. When he spun his chair around, he was surprised to see that Sarah had already taken him up on his invitation and was fast asleep on the couch, stretched out underneath the afghan, her expression completely peaceful in repose without the aid of drugs for the first time since her kidnapping.

Casey watched the even rise and fall of Sarah's chest under the blanket for a couple of minutes before getting up and walking over to stand beside the couch. After pulling the cover up and tucking it under her chin, he stood over her for another couple of moments just to make sure she was really okay before turning away and going upstairs to his own room to sleep.


End file.
